celinenyx
Written on Sep 29, 2020
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Murderbot wasn’t programmed to care. So, its decision to help the only human who ever showed it respect must be a system glitch, right?
Having traveled the width of the galaxy to unearth details of its own murderous transgressions, as well as those of the GrayCris Corporation, Murderbot is heading home to help Dr. Mensah - its former owner (protector? friend?) - submit evidence that could prevent GrayCris from destroying more colonists in its never-ending quest for profit.
But who’s going to believe a SecUnit gone rogue?
And what will become of it when it’s caught?
I “liked” these clothes. Maybe I actually liked them enough to remove the quotation marks around “liked.” I don’t like things in general that can’t be downloaded via the entertainment feed.
[...]would be able to identify me as a rogue unit on sight (or on ping, more accurately)
Still, my human skin was prickling with nerves. The extra security seemed to support a theory I had. Or maybe I mean a hypothesis.
[...]did a quick walk-through to scan for anomalies, then dropped my bag and lay down on the bed. (It was huge. Why have a bed that could easily accommodate four medium to large humans when you only had one hook for towels in the bath facility? Were the humans supposed to share the towel?)
I had been running possible scenarios, partly to drown out the sound of humans making stupid suggestions. (Not that I don’t like that sound; it’s sort of comforting and familiar, in an annoying way.)
Gurathin turned to me. “If they do, you can take her away from them, no matter how many guards?” I was beginning to think Gurathin’s asshole expression was some congenital condition he had no control over. I said, “The more guards the better.” He lifted his brows. “Are you going to kill them?” Scratch that, Gurathin’s asshole expression is due to him being an asshole.
“You’re the humans who walk in the wrong place and get attacked by angry fauna. I have extracted living clients from situations that were less than nine percent survivable. I’m more than qualified to make that call.”
[The hotel had] many levels and had large square biozones depicting different ecologies, with furniture arranged around them. It looked nice, inviting humans to sit around and discuss proprietary information in the hotel’s choked feed so the hotel could record it and sell it to the highest bidder.
On the feed the humans settled some details of what I was designating as Operation Not Actually A Completely Terrible Plan.
So the plan wasn’t a clusterfuck, it was just circling the clusterfuck target zone, getting ready to come in for a landing.
(I guess you could pay off the management to let you bring in a SecUnit and weapons and do a hostage exchange, but they drew the line at giving you free feed access.)
Disinformation, which is the same as lying but for some reason has a different name, is the top tactic in corporate negotiation/warfare.
“I don’t like planets. There’s dust and weather, and something always wants to eat the humans. And planets are much harder to escape from.”