#murderbotbot

The problem with gunships is they want to shoot at stuff. That’s why they’re so expensive to write bond contracts for. I said, No, don’t shoot at us. For fuck’s sake, ART. If everybody would just let me do my stupid job for one minute.

It was starting to occur to me that Dr. Mensah might actually be an intrepid galactic explorer, even if she didn’t look like the ones on the entertainment feed.

I couldn’t wait to get back to my wild rogue rampage of hitching rides on bot-piloted transports and watching my serials.

Amena is on the survey because her education requires an internship in almost getting killed, I guess.

(Apparently getting free will after having 93 percent of your behavior controlled for your entire existence will do weird things to your impulse control.)

“All right,” she said, and looked at me for what objectively I knew was 2.4 seconds and subjectively about twenty excruciating minutes.

The temporary shutdown had flushed a lot of stress toxins secreted by my organic parts and I actually felt better.

The dim corridor lights brightened as we went by, an autonomic reflex. For a human, it would have been like seeing a dead body twitch.