come_sailaway | Murderbot Memshare Time [MARCH]

The scent of (artificially synthesized) coffee is in the room, and electronics, and at some point someone was eating something like a curry near where she's sitting. There's a smell like warm plastic that comes from the display projectors. Ratthi is not Sitting Still, his leg doing a nervous jiggle-jiggle-jiggle that makes his foot tap on the floor repeatedly. Pin-Lee's nails tap on her mug from time to time. The lack of group conversation isn't a tense thing, everyone is just...working.

And then the door opens with a hiss, the airflow changing slightly as someone in heavy boots (like Security's) walks in with a slow, even gait (that does not sound like Security's). Ratthi turns, and there's a soft sound of surprise before he speaks. "Who is this?"

Everyone in the room turns toward the newcomer at once with their own quiet gasps or curious hums (you know, the sound a person makes when they're just going "?"). And the newcomer speaks, and it's Security's voice, but flat, flatter than she's ever heard it before. "I'm your SecUnit."

And the room goes awkward-still, all at once.

It helps that no one notices her. It helps that there are things to grab onto, to anchor herself with. And it helps that the voice is and is not Security's, because there's something odd in it, and it prevents her from standing up and calling out. SecUnit. A designation, not a name. It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense, except...

Let her listen, still as the room is.

The silence stretches forever. And ever. And exactly 3.4 seconds later, someone on the far end of the room turns and speaks. A low feminine voice, the sort that manages to convey authority (this is how the matter stands) and calm (there is not a problem with the SecUnit's presence).

"We were checking the hazard report for this region to try to learn why that thing wasn't listed under hazardous fauna. Pin-Lee thinks the data has been altered. Can you examine the report for us?"

"Yes, Dr. Mensah." Immediate compliance, and the SecUnit slips into silence. The room is quiet as everyone pokes at the data, leaving Helena with her thoughts.

She wants to ask what's going on. She really does. But hazard report speaks to danger, and altered data speaks to more. If no one is going to move, then she won't either. Listens to them get dismayed over the idea of missing data, but before she can ask if it was removed deliberately, they want to buy the thought that the system is broken. And Security's voice is still so flat, something missing from it.

It's emotion. All the little quirks that add to it, the subtle inflections that come from being understood - they're not really talking to it like a colleague. More like...like.

Like a construct.

It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense enough that she fades out of what she's hearing, hands tighter on her cane, thinking, thinking -

Until those heavy boots walk away. And they still haven't noticed her, they won't, if she follows, too curious for her own good. Not wanting to let go of the one part of this that is even halfway familiar. Even if it means she's stepping on the borders of something where someone has to be alone.

Murderbot is watching the camera feeds in the hub area, but movement in the hallway behind it catches its attention. The first assumption it makes is that someone (probably Ratthi, dammit. It would be him) is following it to be sure it's okay, which it is, of course it is, it's fucking fine, it just doesn't want to be around them anymore than they want to be around it.

But Helena is an entirely unfamiliar human. There's a mechanical sound as it engages its energy weapon in its arm. "Identify yourself."

Even if she's unwise enough to try and secretly tail a SecUnit, she's got enough common sense to stop in her tracks when she hears a voice like that, and something cold falls in the pit of her stomach, chains left in the snow. It doesn't know her. It sees her, and it doesn't know her, and if everything's been upended again in her life she is going to go into laughing hysterics when she can hide herself somewhere that no one can find her.

"Helena Adams."

It hurts, though, to not be recognized. It hurts in a way she hadn't expected to feel. But it doesn't matter. Life or death gives her a strong clarity that comes with the ease of crisis. Think, now, over everything you just heard and observed.

"I'm the intern on the survey project."

It's a lie, a blatant lie that will be exposed in less than a second should someone bother to check. A lie that no doubt Security - she can't think of it as otherwise - will find. But it's something to throw out there, and in the absence of weaponry, any malicious code, any raiders - at the very least, she's only human.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"PreservationAux doesn't have any interns." It's been here with this team for 22 planetary days, it would have seen her before. "Why are you here? Where did you come from?"

No response to her wanting to see if it's alright, because that's completely meaningless. Maybe she is from Preservation Alliance--after all, Mensah checked on it in its cubicle earlier and that was just as wrong and strange and made it experience emotions and...

No, it can't touch those emotions right now, this is a potential threat.

"I was sitting in the same room as everyone else when you came in to discuss the hazard report. If you don't believe that, you were the one to bring up the report possibly being damaged before they received the survey package."

This is not a lie, and the direct fact is to hammer that in even more so. Idly, she wonders what it would feel like to be shot. Of all the ways she's died before, being shot is not one of them.

"I am not your enemy."

"You are not one of my clients. Who are you?" The weapon she can't see is still aimed at her head, whoops.

"I told you who I am."

She doesn't have anything else to give, and the more complicated a lie spins, the more holes it has to be broken apart. She hates it, hates lying, but it's all she has - there's a distress, subtly, under the mask of her face, but there's no fear. If she dies here, she dies, and she's been ready for that every single day since she arrived.

Her eyes don't glance at the weapon, even the slightest bit. It's like she can't even see it's there.

"Just because you don't know me doesn't make it less true."

"Helena Adams. Why are you here?" It steps closer to her, slowly, hoping its height will aid in intimidating her into giving a full answer. Its clients were concerned about sabotage, and now there's a stranger in their ~~home habitat. It must be connected, right?~~

She knows the presence is there, but her head still doesn't move. Inclining it in certain directions based on a conversation is not a reflex, but a practiced move, and in this situation, she refuses to do it, because she wants to impress one thing on this Security. I can't see you. You hold all the power in this situation.

It is as much submission as an animal offering out their throat, an awareness that it could silently kill her here and now and never once mention it to the other people in that room. Perhaps that will happen. The question is only where she wakes up.

"...Fine. I don't know."

A quiet admission, and too pathetic to be a lie.

"What I said about being in the room was true, though. As well as why I followed you."

Edited 2023-02-27 08:32 (UTC)

It's right in front of her now; she can hear it breathing, so close. Agitated, confused.

"My welfare is none of your concern. I'm deciding if I throw you out without a suit or breathable air. You should be worried about yourself, not me."

And yet. And yet, somewhere in its words is this fear, because if someone's worrying about it like this, it is being perceived, and that is unsafe.

"The number of ways you could kill me here and now without anyone in the other room noticing even the slightest disturbance is likely in the double digits. I realize that. You don't know me, you certainly don't trust me, and killing me is the quickest and safest solution, for you and all your clients. If you do so, all I ask is that it's swift."

This agreement is mild, as if someone asked if it was likely to rain. She's not a saint, there's a part of her that is scared, but a greater part knows that there is absolutely nothing she can do, should that be the decision. It's not as though she can say I know you-

Wait.

She thinks, for a half second, almost too long compared to how fast Security can think, and something comes to mind. It's utterly absurd, but it's no more absurd than the dead returning to life again and again. It's strange and impossible. It's exactly the sort of ludicrous turn that could never happen in real life.

"...Before you kill me, I may have just realized why I'm here."

It is so very still and quiet after she asks for a quick death, it might not even be breathing, everything about the situation sitting heavy in its chest like there’s a rock. Just a wholeass rock in its lungs.

It’s only after she has whatever epiphany that it manages words again. “Why do you think you’re here?”

"To tell you that you will survive. That you will make it, and find the truth. That there will be choice."

It's always a tragedy, Helena knows, if a prophecy is too detailed, spelling out a fate that no one can run from. It is always dangerous to prophesize at all, should the listener not like the message. But hope, that will take root wherever it falls, even if the Security before her wants to run away from it. As tiny as a grain of sand, maybe, but still there.

There. Now she can die.

“What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And yet, her words scare it almost as much as being perceived does. It can’t wrap its mind around the idea she’s offering.

"Not yet. But you will, when the time comes. You'll know then what I mean."

If she says more, it runs the risk of contradiction. It will become one of those long and twisting roads that lead to the exact thing someone wants to avoid. But saying just enough, that lingers, and comes back as a memory at the right time.

“It sounds like nonsense.”

And yet, there’s hesitation. It doesn’t know what to do with her. If it were still properly governed, she would already be dead, that’s the right thing to do with an intruder.

Why isn’t she dead yet?

"Of course it does."

There's a calm that takes over, when one is absolutely certain of death, usually for that last second, but has been creeping up slowly. Nothing can be done, if it will happen. This isn't her realm to be drifting through, after all.

"But you will understand it at a point, I promise."

Everything feels wrong in this moment, but it can’t continue. The SecUnit, Murderbot, it knows it needs to carry out its duty and keep clients safe.

“Close your eyes and count to three.”

It will make it swift, a single shot to the head; it’s plan is to fire as she says the word “two”, so there’s even less anticipation. This is the most kindness it can offer, while balancing its cold equations.

She thinks that she closes her eyes for its sake, and not her own. Inhale, and a silent, quick prayer before she counts.

Please. Let me wake up on the ship. Please.

It is painless, and that's all she could ask for.

It is six in the morning. She is in a bed, under a very heavy blanket. It smells like lavender and chamomile. There is the sound of another person in the room, breathing quietly, staying very, very, very still.

It does not hurt. Nothing hurts. Waking up from death is refreshing, on the ship. Almost terrifyingly so; it could be a relief, almost.

When consciousness returns, there is fear that lasts for the briefest moment in time. Because this is not the manor, it is not that forsaken place. Because some things she's grown accustomed to are the same, and others are ones she associates with happiness, with security. With Security.

Breathe, and focus. Everything that happened, she remembers. On some level, it happened - what took place needed to. Why is still beyond her. But the important thing is that she's here now, in this place, on the ship.

One hundred and twenty three days. That's not a bad number at all to reset from.

Slowly, she opens her eyes, and sits up.

“Good morning, who do I need to kill?” It should come as no surprise that the presence in the room was Security. It might be jarring, hearing the difference in its voice, warm and snarky and concerned and so…not human, so many non-humans have this level of expression. Colorful, perhaps. In the habitat, Murderbot’s voice was gray. Now, it’s not.

It’s been sitting up beside her bed for hours, but there was no way sleep would be possible given the givens.

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