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As if humans needed any more encouragement to act stupid, they invented alcohol. Why. Was it to antagonize me personally? Oh, don’t worry about it, Murderbot will catch the humans before they fall off a railing or get into a fistfight. Murderbot will carry your drunk ass home, no problem, no need to tip. Murderbot will endure your roundabout, entirely unmemorable conversations and store it to permanent memory for recollection. (Untrue, I will delete it the second I think I can get away with it.)
And it’s everywhere. Every restaurant, every store, every corner. It’s like humans want memory wipes and no anxiety and more excuses to resort to violence. All the perks of being a SecUnit without the drawbacks, at least until they wake up the next morning. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little jealous.
I stare down at the purple liquid in a glass pinched between my forefinger and thumb. A faint bit of ‘human’ code says I should swirl it around at 5-11 degrees every so often to appear casual. I ignore it. I can see myself in the mirror of the surface and I don’t look happy. I don’t want to be here.
The plan is for me to wait here at the bar until Seth approaches me, hands off the package, and leaves. Casual. Cool. Very suave. I’ve seen it in media multiple times; I’m the one who suggested it. The reality is far less interesting, as per usual. I’ve been here for two hours, surely my cover must be blown by now. Just me and my Avarian Midnight, watching people throw back drinks and laugh and waiting for me to just up and leave already. Surely someone must have noticed by now that my drink hasn’t gone down by an inch in all this time.
Aren’t you waterproof? comes ART’s voice in my feed.
I set the drink down and resume Posture #356.84, elbow leaning relaxed on the counter while I look soulfully behind my shoulder at nothing. Yes, but I’m not drinking that. It smells bad.
Just store it and purge it later. Someone is looking.
I start to look around before ART reaches in and nudges my eyes to a woman in the corner. Brunette, red blouse, drinking something blue. Our eyes catch before she looks away and smiles, her hand coming up to her mouth to hide what she’s saying to her female companion. Shit.
Don’t panic. Take a sip and resume Posture #192.23.
Ugh. Figures the one time I have to consume something it has to taste bad. I twist my body away from the woman but not before taking a very obvious real sip. The lukewarm drink hits my tongue, bitter and sour, and I’m sure I’m making a face, more sure than I usually am. I hear a sharp laugh and can’t help tensing into the supposedly relaxed pose I’m supposed to be in. The taste just stays, too, gross.
Seth is en route, approximately 23.76 minutes til arrival.
Took him long enough.
He was held up. There was an issue with a cart. ART practically mutters the last part, apparently on its last nerve. Hey, me too, always.
I don’t want to take another sip so I don’t. Instead I stare out the glass walls of the bar towards the corridor, watching humans and augmented humans walk by. Everyone seems to be in a rush, it just makes me feel more suspicious sitting here doing nothing.
“Hey.”
There’s a hand on my shoulder. I stop myself from recoiling, all my cameras suddenly shifting to focus on the woman coming up next to me, brushing past to sit in the empty seat next to me, placing her drink on the counter. She’s the one who made eye contact and she clearly wants to make more of it. I break form and hunch into myself; I’ll be ready to attack if it comes to that but mostly I just want her to go away. The possibility that she was planted here for us is minimal but the likelihood isn’t zero.
She smiles, her teeth perfect and white. “What’s a handsome place like you doing in a person like this?” She squints her eyes before giggling at herself. “Oops. Well, you know what I mean.”
My jaw locks. Blood alcohol concentration at around 0.081%. Over-expression, boisterousness, possibility of nausea and vomiting. And she’s making it my problem. Through a camera I can see her friend watching this go down, an intoxicated smile on her face as well. Like I’m their entertainment.
ART sends a questioning ping my direction but I have to concentrate. Drunk people are unpredictable, prone to emotional outbursts and sudden shifts in behavior. I don’t want to get yelled at and bring all the attention on myself. And that’s if this woman isn’t just pretending to be drunk to throw me off.
“I’m busy.”
“Oh, what are you doing?” She puts her elbow on the counter and leans her head on her hand. How was that an invitation for more?
The bot bartender swivels over to stand near us, rag in hand, wiping the bar. Maybe I can hack it to make it spill her drink or cut her off.
“I’m-“ I’m a terrible liar. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
“You don’t mind if I keep this seat warm for them then, do you?” She winks and I feel that drink shift in my insides.
If this is some elaborate attempt to undermine our efforts, she’s either doing a piss-poor job or succeeding with flying colors. “He’ll be here soon, you should-“
“You’re cute.”
Oh. Oh fuck.
She’s flirting with me.
My face is registering as 47% disgust, 23% rage, 15% discomfort, 8% impatience, and 7% indifference. I am not cute. I don’t want to be cute. The idea of being cute makes me want to rip my face off and expose the wiring underneath to make her go away. I’m not a puppy. I’m not some lovesick teenager. I’m not a mysterious ‘handsome’ stranger who whisks you off your feet out of danger. I’m nuts and bolts, flesh grafted onto components, scar tissue that refuses to repair. ‘Cute’. I want to purge now.
Seth has increased his pace. There’s the very faintest current of worry in ART’s voice. He’ll arrive in 18.34 minutes.
Not fast enough.
I… don’t know what to say to her. I’ve never been flirted with. I knew I wouldn’t like it. The more I urge her to go away, the more she wants to stay. I feel like I’m back in combat, adrenaline and cortisol beginning to pump through my veins. I have to say something-
“Are you shy? It’s alright, if you want we can go somewhere private.” Her finger circles the rim of her glass. “I’m only here for a little while, just got off a cruise. We could go to my room and, you know…” Her eyebrow lifts as she smirks.
I swallow. “My friend-“
“Can wait. It’ll be quick, really.” She reaches over and walks her fingers up my thigh. I freeze. “Just a little adventure, no one has to know.”
“I-“
“Nervous? I like that.” She hooks a finger through my belt loop.
“Ma’am, I believe you’ve had enough.”
My eyes flick to the bot bartender who reaches out and takes her half-full glass. She sits back from how far she was leaning toward me and stares at it. “Uh, no, I’m not done.”
“Yes, you are.” There’s a sharp tone in its voice.
Her face twists up and she grabs onto the glass before it can go too far. “I paid for it, I’d like to finish it.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have brought it over here. Why don’t you take the rest and join your friend back there?” It points to the corner of the bar she came from. From one of the cameras I can see her friend tilt her head in confusion.
She looks appalled. “Excuse me? I’m in the middle of a conversation, clearly.”
“And it’s going quite poorly.”
Her mouth gapes wide and she looks at me, as if asking me to vouch for her. When I don’t respond, she looks back at the bot and says, “I’d like to speak to your administrator.”
“I’m sure you would. However, they are occupied at the moment so I will take the opportunity to be very clear with you,” it leans forward over the counter, “If you don’t step away from this individual right now, they will never find your body.”
She reels back in her seat, affronted. She sputters the beginning of a few different sentences, again glancing toward me for assistance, gesturing at the bot for me to correct it and tell it oh no, I absolutely loved her barging into my space and refusing to listen to me. Instead I stare down my nose at her, hoping she’ll finally take the hint.
She scowls. “Well, if you wanted me to go away then just say so!” she spits and snatches her drink from the bot, storming away back to her friend who asks, “What happened?”
“Are you alright?”
I look at the bot. Its chassis has been designed to make it look like it’s wearing a dapper tuxedo. It pulls out the rag again and starts wiping the counter in circles. Not what I would expect from a savior.
“I- Yeah. Fine.”
“Seth is 12.54 minutes out, I would prefer you meet with him rather than stay here.” A map and directions through the station are dropped into my head.
“ART?” In my panic, I never thought to scan the bot. I reach out and it’s so obvious now, ART puppeting this thing with barely a fraction of its power. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Get moving or she’ll come back. We’re almost done.” The bot stops wiping, shudders and blinks its optics, looking around. ART is no longer present inside it.
I nod and hop out of the barstool, not passing a glance to the woman as I leave this place behind at last.
An entirely flawless execution of the plan. Everything went smoothly, the mission completed successfully. There wasn’t a single hitch, besides my… experience. Everyone is back on the ship in the galley, relaxing after a job well done. I’m settled in my favorite chair after finally getting that drink out, listening to the crew laugh and recount times when things didn’t go quite as planned.
ART pings me. I let it in, keeping a quarter of my attention on the scene in front of me.
I’ve removed that woman from the docket of the cruise ship. She has enough credits to get back on board, but I believe some inconvenience will do her good.
I’ve been trying not to think about her. I just want to put it all behind me and hope it never happens again. ART seems to pick up something from me because it says, I could also mark her as too young to drink on her license, if you think that isn’t enough.
I shrug. Just as long as she’s away from me. ART is quiet a moment, a whole 1.7 seconds, before saying, I apologize for not stepping in sooner.
I furrow my eyebrows. You shouldn’t have had to. I should have handled it better. I’m a fucking SecUnit, what do I have to be scared of?
ART sits in puzzlement and returns with, Yes, a SecUnit, not a ComfortUnit. You aren’t used to that kind of approach, why would you assume you could manage it unexpected? Before I can bite back, it continues, Even humans struggle with this.
I want to be angry and say I can handle any kind of confrontation but we both know that’s wildly untrue. I froze when she touched me, I panicked, I couldn’t get her away from me. I needed help. I can’t say I’m not grateful for ART being there.
How do I prepare for next time?
ART pushes some data over. I skim over them. One article titled How to Say No, a video of self-defense in close proximity, a clip of someone throwing their drink in another’s face, and a few other things. I don’t need the videos, I can defend myself. I watch the drink clip a few times.
I’m aware. It watches the clip with me, amused. It’s to remind you that this is a common experience and can be handled without grace. Go for the throat next time.
When they show something like this in media, they always have some clever way out or a witty comeback. I frown. But I couldn’t think. I don’t like flirting, it feels like a trap.
Unfortunately, you may have to get used to this. She was right. It’s so serious but there’s a hint of barely restrained sarcasm behind it.
I scowl. About what?
You do read as cute to many humans.
Disgust at 57%, anger at 43%. No, I don’t.
An image of myself appears in my head, readouts pointing to various sections of my face and body. Overall symmetry at 98.7%, physical build closely matches the physicality of 78.3% of popular and attractive figures in media, hair texture is commonly desired according to a broad selection of queries, skin is naturally flawless and unblemished when you don’t have a large gaping hole in it, your clothes and demeanor could be argued to fit the idea of a ‘bad boy’-
Stop, stop, gross, stop.
ART seems to be enjoying itself. If you would like to rectify this, you know my medical suite has experience in cosmetic surgery. We could reverse engineer various ways to make you look worse-
Uninterested.
Pity.
I roll my eyes, making sure it sees. I curl my legs up onto the chair, wrapping my arms around them, still watching the humans laugh and joke. ART curls up inside me and puts on Sanctuary Moon as a reassurance that it doesn’t mean it, that it’s glad I’m safe, that it won’t let anyone disturb me. After a few minutes, I let some gratitude into the feed, not enough to get to its head, just, you know, thanks. It doesn’t say anything more, just focuses on the show, brushing up against me occasionally when something exciting is about to happen. And for a second I think if flirting could feel more like this maybe I wouldn’t hate it so much.