Then I thought of the obvious solution. The air was breathable, and she could be treated for possible contamination as long as she still had her head.
I felt around her neck, slowed down by the unfamiliar suit design, then my fingers hit the little tab. (I would never have found it in time in my armor; the human skin overlay on my hands is much more sensitive.) I pressed the tab and twisted, and the emergency release unlocked her helmet. It was stuck in the door for almost a full second, enough time for me to push off and twist away. Then the thing on the other side snatched it out of the gap and the hatch snapped closed. I landed on my feet holding Don Abene, head still attached.
She slumped against me, gasping, her hands knotted in my jacket. Miki was at my shoulder, worriedly poking at her feed, its long fingers gently lifting her hair to check her neck. It said, “Don Abene, do you need medical assistance? Don Abene, please answer.”
Gerth and Wilken stopped firing down the corridor, and my scan showed whatever was down there was long gone. From the floor, Brais gasped, “What was— Are you—” Ejiro, curled up at the base of the wall, shouted, “Abene!”
I was congratulating myself (because nobody else ever does it) on an excellent save. Human security had literally just noticed that something had tried to steal their client’s head. Then Gerth said, “That’s a SecUnit!”
All the humans stared at me and Abene. More importantly, Wilken and Gerth had pointed their weapons at me. Oh, Murderbot, what did you do?
(I don’t even know. I suspect it has to do with the fact that I went from being told what to do and having every action monitored to being able to do whatever I wanted, and somewhere along the way my impulse control went to hell.)
The only way out of this was to kill them.
If I did that, I’d have to kill all of them. Including Miki. Including Abene. Her still-attached head was resting against my collarbone and her hair was all warm and soft where it was in contact with my human skin.
Right, so the only smart way out of this was to kill all of them. I was going to have to take the dumb way out of this.
I made sure my face and voice were SecUnit neutral. I said, “I’m a SecUnit under contract to Security Consultant Rin, who was sent by GoodNightLander Independent as an extra security measure for the assessment team.” I had to admit I was a SecUnit; there was no augmented human who could do what I just did. Also, my right sleeve was still rolled up, exposing the weapon port in my forearm. (The inorganic parts around the port might look like an augment designed to correct an injury, but the weapon port doesn’t look like anything else but what it is.)
It was at this point I remembered Miki, and how I had told it I was an augmented human security consultant. I had been in Miki’s feed, the connection so intimate even though I’d had my walls up. Miki would know that the Rin it had been talking to this whole time was the SecUnit standing here. Yeah, I should have taken Miki over earlier when I had the chance; there was no time to do it now.
In my private connection to Miki, I said, Please, Miki, I just want to help.
Miki cocked its head at me, then at Abene. Still dazed, and possibly concussed, she hadn’t let go of me yet. She stared up at me, her brow wrinkled in confusion. Following my wounded human protocol, I had upped my body temperature to try to prevent her from going into shock. She said, “Miki…? Who is this?”
Miki said, “Security Consultant Rin is my friend, Don Abene. I was asked not to tell you, to keep you safe.”
Huh. That wasn’t a lie, but it sure wasn’t the truth, either. Maybe Miki had hidden depths.
I saw Gerth throw a startled glance at Wilken. Wilken reacted but controlled it. They didn’t speak on their feed connection. From the shuttle, Kader demanded an update, asking if the team needed assistance. Brais said, “Ejiro is injured.” She pushed herself up the wall, shaking. “Is Abene all right? What happened?”
Abene started to nod, then winced. She patted my arm and pushed away a little, and I let her stand on her own. “I’m fine…” On the feed,