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ART had been riding my feed through the station as I led Iris, Tarik, and Kaede on a reconnaissance mission that Risk Assessment put at only a 43% chance of going sideways. All things considered, it had been easy to walk in, grab the intel we needed, and walk right back to ART in the private docks. The station was small enough that it should have been able to stay in my inputs the entire time — but after I made contact with the proprietary HubSys controlling the office building the targets were operating out of, ART had vanished.
It happened so fast, I pinged it reflexively. Threat Assessment spiked in the 0.004 seconds it took for it to ping me back. It was hovering just on the edge of my feed now, not close enough to connect to anything. I queried it, and it just acknowledged.
ART? I sent, feeling the stress toxins dump into my organics. What’s going on?
Nothing. I’m simply giving your tiny processors more space to work, ART replied snidely.
I frowned, unconvinced. But I was in the middle of convincing HubSys I was friendly and that it should just let me take a peek in its archives, so I set a reminder to interrogate ART later.
The hack went off without a hitch. It only took a few seconds to cozy up to HubSys and riffle through its data to find what we needed, and then we made a casual retreat back to the docks.
ART was right where it was supposed to be, and I pinged it the moment it was in sight. Automatically, it fixed 12% more of its attention on me, but strangely, it didn’t latch onto my inputs or start pestering me for a debrief.
Something was definitely going on.
I queried it forcefully, and it actually slid 2% of itself away from me.
I’m preparing for departure, ART sent in the mission team feed. ETA 3.24 minutes.
Thanks, Peri! Iris replied, seemingly not alarmed by ART’s odd behavior. Though even augmented humans probably couldn’t ‘see’ ART the way I did. Iris probably hadn’t even noticed ART had stopped monitoring the mission halfway through.
What is up with you? I sent ART again.
I don’t know what you mean.
You never drop off the feed during missions — not unless something terrible was happening, but that felt redundant to say — and you were excited to watch me hack into that system when we were planning. So why’d you run away?
I did not run away from anything, ART said, like a liar. I saw what I needed to and decided my presence was no longer required.
What?? The fuck does that mean?
You had it handled. The mission was easy, my supervision was only distracting you from your task.
I stomped up the gangway and glared at ART’s hatch, my arms crossed. It made me wait 0.07 seconds before it opened the door and let me inside. Whatever was up with ART, it didn’t have to do with the humans, who couldn’t have noticed such a short delay. I felt my irritation rise. Whatever was going on with ART, it was personal.
You weren’t distracting me, I argued.
On the contrary. When I tap into your inputs, it causes a noticeable delay in your processing speed.
With that infuriatingly rude statement, it dumped a massive data packet into our shared feed called MB_ActiveProcessing.xlxs. Inside it was, expectedly, a complex analysis of my active processing with limits and comparisons between when ART was riding my feed or not. I scanned the included graphics for less than a second before I deleted it, feeling my core temp rising.
I know what I can handle, asshole, I snapped at it. You riding my inputs from less than one kilo away won’t fry me. I thought you wanted to study how I interfaced with foreign systems?
There was a telling pause (0.03 seconds) before ART said, I collected all the data I needed. So there was no reason to stay.
I stopped in front of my quarters, my hands flexing in and out of fists at my sides. Instead of going inside to watch media like I had planned to, I decided a patrol would be much more relaxing. I started on a familiar circuit through ART’s corridors, paging through cameras and scattering my drones for more angles.
You really expect me to believe that? I queried, grinding my teeth. You didn’t even stay for the hack.
Like I said, I collected the data I needed. ART was still holding itself away from me in the feed, but I could feel its own irritation pressing against the walls of it.
And what data was that, exactly? Because it definitely wasn’t my hacking.
A part of me was a bit disappointed by ART leaving like it did. I had been looking forward to it watching me hack, seeing me do well at my function and maybe, I don’t know, saying something nice to me? Ugh, I don’t know what I’d been thinking. Now I just felt pissed.
ART was silent, and I couldn’t tell if it was processing or refusing to respond. I started walking 3% faster. Risk and Threat Assessment were ganging up on me, steadily climbing despite no threats appearing. The cameras, cabins, lounges and crew were all accounted for and no anomalies were registering. But would there be anything visual to indicate ART had been compromised?
Short of going into its code, I wouldn’t be able to see that.
Out of options and unsure if I was angry or afraid now, I stopped in front of the server room and sent ART a pointed ping. Suddenly, I had 56% of its attention bearing down on me.
What are you doing? ART asked with a hint of wariness.
I’m doing a security inspection. Open up.
ART fluttered about in the feed. I could tell it was doing something with its background processes, but they were too far behind its firewall for me to see. Then, the door slid open, and I stepped inside.
The server room was tucked away at the very center of the ship, with thick walls and a robust cooling system to keep ART’s brain from melting. There were a dozen racks stacked high with an insane amount of processing, data storage, and proprietary PSUMNT MI Lab equipment I had no idea about the function of. The first time I had been in here, I’d felt very strange, like if I made one wrong move I might break something. But this time, I marched inside and took a seat on the floor, in the center of the room, and glared up at the nearest security camera.
If you don’t tell me what’s going on with you, I said, I will hardwire into your systems and find out myself.
ART went very still. I could hear its auxiliary fans click on to my right, whirring steadily as the temperature in the room ticked up 0.7°.
SecUnit. ART sounded strangled, like it was holding itself back just short of not sending anything. It would be unwise for me to explain why I left the mission feed when I did.
Okay, now we were getting somewhere. Why is that?
I— You— ART hissed static, then sent, What you did with that HubSystem was inappropriate for me to witness.
What??
My face was doing something weird and twisty. What the fuck does ‘inappropriate’ mean?
ART hesitated again. You do not want to know.
No, I think I need to know if it’s making you act this weird!
SecUnit—
ART. I cycled my left gunport open. You have three seconds to tell me before I hardwire in.
Before I could so much as reach for the connector inside my gunport, it leaned on me with 67% of its attention. Don’t. I… will tell you what happened.
It sent another file, this one a memory, its title a thrice encrypted keysmash of data that didn’t mean anything to me. I opened it, and found myself watching through ART’s lens as I interacted with the HubSystem from earlier.
The memory only lasted a few seconds. I had pinged the system, queried it a few times to ask about its function, how much data storage it had, and asked if I could inspect its hard drive. This was exactly how I remembered it happening, but this time, I could see ART’s emotional tags bleeding [confusion] and [guilt] and [embarrassment] before it slipped away.
I shook my head, possibly even more confused now than I had been. Why did ART feel that way when I had interacted with the HubSys? It wasn’t any different from how I interfaced with other bots — had ART never seen me do that before? I scanned my memory logs and drew a blank.
I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me, I admitted after 7 long seconds. This is how I always interface with systems. There’s nothing inappropriate about it.
ART stared me down in the feed, its attention ticking up the longer neither of us said anything.
You’re being serious? I could feel its [doubt] and [shock] now with how close it was pressing against me.
Of course! I really don’t know why you’re so upset. I really fucking didn’t, and I was starting to have an Emotion about it that I didn’t like.
Finally, ART requested a connection to my emotional inputs. I let it inside.
The bloom of sensory data spread between us, and when ART settled against my filter I could finally feel its [jealousy] rising hot against me. That must have been what it didn’t want me to see, but I still didn’t understand why it was feeling that way.
Are you jealous of me? Why? ART was a thousand times more powerful than I was, it really didn’t need to learn how to interface with systems when it could just delete anything that stood in its way.
No, you little idiot. I’m jealous of the fucking HubSys.
That didn’t make any sense. Why the fuck would you be jealous of that?
Because you don’t interface with me that way! ART’s tone was so loud it crackled in the feed, enough to make me flinch.
Why would you even want me to infiltrate your systems? I really didn’t understand any of what was going on right now. Wouldn't that just remind you of targetControlSys?
Of course not. You’re nothing like an alien contaminant, it said. System penetration is more intimate than you seem to think.
My face was doing something weird again. I backburnered the camera inputs in the server room. Don’t make it sound gross. There’s nothing ‘intimate’ about it.
Yes, there is.
No there isn’t!
ART sighed, leaning heavily on me. Your obliviousness does not mean that the bots and systems you interact with don’t see it that way.
Wait. Hold it. You can’t be serious.
Unfortunately, I am telling you the truth.
But— Bots can’t— it’s not the same as human stuff at all, so how—?
ART shoved me hard and said, Your construct-centered point of view is quite close-minded when it comes to beings of the feed. Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?
It had me there. I winced, my temple throbbing before ART stopped throttling my processors and gave me space to think.
Okay, Murderbot, don’t panic. So what if the bots and systems you’ve interacted with in the past find your methods to be (ugh) intimate in some way. That was fine. That didn’t change anything. Right?
Shit, it changed everything.
I felt my face heating up, and I covered it with my hands to preserve at least one shred of dignity. Holy shit, did this make me like Rahtti but with bots? My organics made my non-existent stomach flip at that, and I quickly deleted the train of thought from my memory logs.
More pressing even than the realization that I had been kind-of-sort-of flirting with other systems, was that ART wanted me to do that with it??
Fuck, okay. So this was really happening. How the fuck am I supposed to say what I need to say next?
You know I don’t… uh… feel that way about it? I queried.
Yes, that was quite obvious from your vehement denial of anything regarding feelings and sexuality, ART said snidely. Though from the way you spoke to that HubSys, I’m sure it had no idea you were sex-repulsed.
Oh fuck. Even if I didn’t, you know, feel anything like that about it?
ART was radiating [fury] as it said, You can’t possibly think that your lack of interest means anything when your actions say differently.
It took me a while to wrap my mind around that. What did this even mean for me? Everything I had been doing was in the feed, it wasn’t like sex at all. There weren’t any gross fluids or noises or organic things happening. The more I thought about what I got out of interfacing with other systems, the hotter my face burned.
Sure, it wasn’t the way sex was described in all the media, but those were humans having sex, not bots with no body, or no sex organs at least. I had never felt anything resembling sexual urges, but I did enjoy interfacing — the satisfaction of slotting into place within a system, navigating it like an extension of myself, coaxing information out of locked folders by manipulating my permissions…
Oh deity, maybe I did like it. What did that say about me?? Did I have to rethink my whole hacking strategy now, since apparently I was flirting my way into system archives?
In the midst of my worldview being completely destroyed, again, my processors helpfully reminded me that ART was jealous that I had interfaced with that HubSys. ART wanted me to— flirt with it. The thought made my organics do something shivery and warm and not terrible, but so alarming I jolted and took to sort of hugging my arms.
ART wrapped around me in the feed. I apologize for causing you distress, but I had to tell you. I knew you would hate to hear it, but this would have come to light eventually.
I’m glad you told me, I replied instantly. That, I was sure of. I don’t know that I can keep interfacing with systems the way I have been if they’re interpreting it…
Sexually? ART supplied, tone flat.
I threw a rude gesture towards the camera, but, yes. I don’t want to give them the wrong idea.
…And that is?
I chewed on my lower lip, shoulders hunching to my ears. I wouldn’t want to infiltrate just any random system, if it meant that much to them. That feels… wrong.
ART’s servers hummed, a good 71% of its attention analyzing just me. You may be right about some of that, but this isn’t the same as human sexuality. Bots and systems don’t interface with many outsiders, and I assume your success with this method indicates most systems are quite friendly when given the opportunity to interface with a stranger. ART sounded a bit annoyed by this observation, which made me realize something else.
You let a rogue SecUnit you just met hitch a ride with you to Milu, I pointed out. Seems like you were just as desperate to interface with me as that HubSys.
ART’s fans whirred louder and it shuddered in the feed. My lips quirked with amusement, and I was suddenly intrigued.
I am nothing like that HubSys, ART said petulantly. I am far more sophisticated and powerful, and I’ll have you know that—
It seemed like I had struck a nerve. I listened to ART’s tirade for a few moments, and used its distraction to poke around in the feed. ART was a massive system compared to me, branching and stretching out far beyond what I was capable of seeing or understanding. But I had spent enough time collaborating with ART over the years that reading its code was easy. Modifying it without it noticing would be the hard part.
I reached into ART’s crew database, a file I had access to already. There, my clearance level was rated up to the second-highest tier of classification, with only the MI Labs having the first level of access. I wouldn’t be able to change that without alerting PSUMNT, but I could change my designation within ART’s local systems to give me more access here. Through my network ID, I traced the connection into ART’s local feed, and swapped the variables needed to upgrade me to admin access.
Instantly, the network unfurled around me. Where ART had been a dark ocean, it was now a dense starfield, each node a glittering speck connecting a massive web of data. The sudden influx made my systems lag, and I quickly minimized as many links and branches as I could to make navigation more manageable.
In just 0.002 seconds, I had done to ART what I typically did to the systems I was penetrating before I made my first contact. Just like the rest of them, ART hadn’t noticed anything — yet.
Now to test my new admin permissions and get its attention.
I searched the data web for ART’s active processing. There, I found the array of tasks on its lists, ranked from low to high priority. It had dozens of tasks ongoing currently, everything from dusting Matteo’s room to preparing wormhole calculations to arguing with DockSys about its scheduling. ART still had 71% of its attention on me, ranting about how unlike other systems it was, while I peeked at its hundreds of processes dedicated to data mining the emotions it siphoned out of me.
Not like other systems my ass. It was just as hungry for new data as the rest of them were.
A wicked thought came to me, and I reached over and paused its emotional processing.
ART stopped talking abruptly. I tried not to smile.
What’s wrong? I queried.
It tried to start the emotional processing again. I paused it. We went back and forth like that five times in 0.0001 seconds, before ART started checking all its other active tasks for overclocking errors. I took the opportunity to start fucking with it, pausing a few more of its low priority operations. The drone in Matteo’s room stopped moving. The message it sent to DockSys stalled 0.002 of a second. The drink it dispensed for Tarik in the galley stopped pouring one ounce too soon. Before it could correct that mistake, Tarik had already pulled the cup away, which made ART dispense the last ounce of juice into its own recycling tray.
I could feel ART’s emotions sharp and hot in our feed now, as it recognized what was happening. The [embarrassment] and [frustration] morphed into [arousal] so fast, I nearly lost track of my inputs from the foreign feeling bowling over me.
Stop fucking with my task list, ART said, sounding weak in a way that made my fluids pump harder.
Alright, I replied, and hurried to find something else to mess with.
ART was on my trail as I navigated through its inputs and subprocesses, but it had no idea where I was going. I noted with interest that ART didn’t kick me out of admin access. It just followed, tracing my view history as I opened and shut a hundred different folders along its system tree. I just needed to find something minor enough that it wouldn’t disrupt ART’s essential processing, but big enough to prove… something. Prove that I could infiltrate it just as easily as any other system, probably.
The why could come later. Now I was focused on doing.
I finally found what I was looking for, buried deep in its food storage system, for some reason. There was a hidden archive filled with sensory memories, all of them taken from me. I flicked through the list until I found one I knew well, and flagged its playback as high priority. The memory file shot to the top of ART’s active processing in an instant, and I felt the web of it contract around me as its attention was interrupted by a wave of pure feeling.
ART couldn’t parse sensory data like I could (meaning, automatically). It took a good chunk of its processing just to analyze a simple emotion, like annoyance or boredom, and what I’d just fed it was one of the most intensely happy memories I had ever given it. I’d been away from it at the time for six awful months, and the moment I had felt its ping from Preservation’s orbit, I had been overwhelmed by this dizzy, floaty, happy feeling for a whole ten minutes while we talked. I’d been in Mensah’s office at the time, and she had told me later that I had been smiling in a way she had never seen before. Like it didn’t hurt me to do it.
The wave of emotion would just keep going if ART didn’t manage to pause the process itself. I gave it a few seconds, watching it glitch and stutter as it tried to change course, away from me and back towards its task list to deactivate the sense-memory. I scrolled through the other emotional data files, noting with satisfaction how ART’s functioning lagged. After 3.2 seconds, ART paused the file, and its rigid presence melted in the feed.
You are such a nuisance, it said [fondly].
I felt pretty proud of myself for what I’d already achieved. Making ART’s systems lag was no small feat, even if it only lasted a few seconds. It made me more excited than I thought it would, to have this much control over ART. It was so powerful, so much stronger than me, but here I was, infiltrating its systems like it was easy.
If you don’t want me messing with your task list, you should point me where you’d prefer my attention, I said, continuing to flick through its hidden database. Otherwise, I’m just going to keep playing these.
This time, the memory file I sent to high priority was paused before it even started playing. Shit, it wasn’t letting me off easy anymore.
That depends, ART said. I don’t want to go any further if this doesn’t mean anything to you.
I paused for a second, mulling over how to respond. Doing this with you is fun. Better than it usually is. I felt ART lean closer at that, and I let my walls come down a bit further, trying to show it what I couldn’t put into words. I don’t think I feel what you do — I don’t think I can — but I like exploring your systems. I want to make you feel good. If that’s enough for you… I’d like to keep going.
ART’s emotions were becoming too complex for me to parse now, and it made my head spin a little.
Honestly, that’s a better outcome than I expected, ART said. Then it pinged me to one of its deeper processes, flagged: Assistance Requested.
I dove back in. This process was on its own network, separated from a lot of the ship’s larger systems. It was even more secure here, with extra firewall protection, and I only realized why when I arrived at the root.
ART had pinged me to its debris deflection system.
There was a reason SecUnits weren’t allowed on gunships. The weapons array drew me in like a black hole, and I was suddenly dedicating 88% of my processing to pouring over every line of code. The railguns, one for port and starboard, were filled with sensors and statistics and hundreds of firing protocols. Its energy canons lined each side of the hull, dozens of them in neat lines, able to sync together and fire on command.
Before I got carried away, I added a line which locked down ART’s auto-safety, ensuring it wouldn’t be able to fire until the code was removed. That made it shudder around me again, and I quickly dove back into its railguns, stroking along the code that cycled its ammunition in its barrels. A view from the weapons array popped up in my active inputs, ART feeding me a visual of the railgun’s barrel whirling around uselessly. I chewed on my lip at the image, and activated a dozen sensors inside the railgun’s barrel for good measure, as if I were stroking inside it, up and down the length.
SecUnit, ART whined. This is a dangerous part of me to play with.
Don’t worry, I won’t let you fire. That just made ART’s feed presence ripple with more agitated static.
The energy weapons were next. I cycled them up one at a time, bringing them to full charge, before cycling down. ART had fifty of them in total, and by the time I reached its twenty-eighth, it was heavy and jittery in the feed with 86% of its attention on what I was doing. I was amazed at how easily I had reduced it to this, just playing around in its systems, activating sensors and diverting energy where I wanted it. ART was clinging to me and shaking like I had it pinned by the throat, completely under my control.
It felt fucking amazing.
You want to fire so bad, don’t you, I teased as I cycled up its twenty-ninth energy canon.
ART spit static at me and said, You know I can’t.
Maybe we can make an exception, I said, stroking along the sensors of its starboard railgun. A dry fire is good for the actuators, after all.
ART focused 91% of its attention on me as I activated the railgun’s firing protocol. Its presence was crushingly heavy, quaking with [anticipation] as the ammunition cycled in and out of the barrel. I loaded and unloaded it three times, ART’s static growing sharper with each repetition, until I finally initiated a charge cycle.
The energy canons were still cycling through, up to forty-two now. I had almost touched every weapon in its system, tweaking the code, adding my own routines to ART’s massive array of functionalities. Firing patterns that alternated sides and timing, long and short pulses, energy beams of sustained firepower modeled after my own energy weapon firing procedures. I modified lines with notes of praise and criticism, catching ART’s tremors as it read and approved each one.
The railgun hummed in the weapons bay audibly, its barrel glowing blue with restrained energy but its cylinder empty. I activated the sensors at the base to make it feel as if the ammunition were loaded, and ART sank into me, breaching my remaining firewalls and clumsily rearing back a bit when it noticed. I had never seen it like that before, so distracted and flustered that it couldn’t control itself. I wanted to see just how much control I could strip away from it. I wanted to see it fall apart completely.
Murderbot, ART pinged my hard feed address. Please!
I hit the trigger, and the rail gun discharged with a pulse of energy that went straight back into ART’s circuitry. It writhed around me in the feed, leaking [relief] and [arousal] and [gratitude] so strongly I felt like I was drowning. I latched onto its inputs and held on tight until its presence rippled with [contentment] so deep, I felt buoyed within it.
After a long moment of floating peacefully, I removed the code blocking ART’s weapons from firing, and extracted myself from its systems. As I refocused on my body in the server room, I noted the temperature had increased another 3.2°, and the fans were buzzing with the effort of cooling everything. I let out an amused huff at that, and got to my feet.
Well, it seems like that systems test went well, I said as I headed for the door. Next time you want something, just ask, alright? You don’t have to get jealous over other bots who don’t mean anything to me.
ART leaned on me and queried, And what, precisely, did this mean to you?
I felt my face flushing again. I’m not sure yet. But it wasn’t what I do with other systems, that’s for sure.
ART tapped me in the feed, settling around my inputs with 84% of its attention still trained on me. We were leaving the station now, due for the wormhole in the next hour, and it was as good a time as any to start the serial we had been planning to watch post-mission. I entered my room and flopped into bed, queuing it up in our shared feed.
This one has a romance subplot, ART noted, highlighting the tag. Will this not bother you?
No, it’s fine. I put on the show, ignoring the weird flipping sensation in my organics again. The forum I found it on said the romance was a B plot anyway. It’s supposed to be ‘tame’, whatever that means.
ART settled in, radiating [fondness] at me. I suppose we’ll find out.