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It was our first cargo mission together. (Our first with me officially part of its crew, anyway. I guess you could count our first meeting as our actual first cargo run.) ART didn't really need a security consultant on a cargo run, but no one had objected to me coming with, so now we were alone, six cycles into a 23-cycle wormhole trip. I was walking along its empty halls, kind of like a patrol, but not really.
"Why do you do that?" ART asked.
"What?" I said. I know I don't need to patrol when we're alone (or even when we're not alone), but I'd been doing it anyway ever since I'd become its security consultant. The rest of the crew didn't seem to mind, and I thought ART didn't either, but apparently it was different when we were alone.
"You've been touching my walls," ART said. "Why do you do that?"
Oh. So it wasn't about the patrolling. I snatched my hand away from the wall I'd been trailing my fingers along as I walked, and said, snippily: "Don't make it sound so gross."
"It's a simple observation," ART replied haughtily. "You're the one who's making it gross. And you haven't answered my question."
I crossed my arms and walked on silently. This was not a topic I wanted to talk about, and I thought maybe ART would just drop it if I ignored it.
That was a stupid thought. ART was a stubborn asshole who had never dropped something it was interested in in its life. Instead, it focussed progressively more and more of its attention on me, until, when I reached the argument lounge, it was so heavy in my feed that I had to sit down.
"You've been touching the walls in your room ever since you've had it," ART said. "I thought it was about the novelty of having a room for yourself. But now you're touching my hallway walls as well." It said it like a statement, but I felt the implied question.
"Why do you care?" I said. "I can do what I want."
"SecUnit." ART pressed down on me, and I could feel its [judgement] in the feed, as well as a huge mountain of [curiosity], and another feeling that I couldn't identify.
"Fine. I just... like it, okay. Can you shut up now?"
ART, of course, did not shut up. "You like it?" it said, glee very clear in both its voice and the emotions it was leaking into the feed. I curled up in my chair so I could hide my face. I was planning on not saying anything else and just waiting until it stopped being smug and we could watch a serial, but then ART brushed across me in the feed in a way that felt... still a bit smug, but also something else. Something that made me feel warm, and nice, and made me mutter out the truth.
"It reminds me that you're here. That you're not— back when—"
ART squeezed me tightly in the feed and I didn't finish my sentence. It knew, anyway.
We stayed twisted together like that for a bit, just kind of stewing in the emotions that thinking back to that situation brought up. I usually hated those thoughts, but it was much less bad with ART right there in my head, reassuring me that it wasn't— that it was there. At some point, ART started up an episode of Sanctuary Moon and we half-watched it together.
After the credits of the fifth episode rolled, ART spoke:
"I have a proposal."
"Hmm?"
"I can, of course, see it when you put your hands on my walls. However, I cannot feel it, as I have no sensors there."
ART paused, and I waved my hand for it to continue. I was curious where this was going.
"I would like to feel it," ART said.
"Oh," I said, like an idiot.
ART withdrew slightly from me in the feed. "Does that bother you?"
"Um. No," I answered, turning my face away from ART's cameras and at the same time pulling it closer in the feed. I could feel ART's scepticism and I continued: "It's, um... more like the opposite."
Now it was ART's turn to say oh like an idiot. I could feel its excitement bloom, like one of those pink trees on Preservation, dropping its petals all over me. (I know that is a weird comparison, but it made me feel kind of the same)
"Most of my interior lacks tactile sensors," ART said, "since I monitor it primarily through cameras. However, there are a few places where it is especially important to notice damage or loose parts, or where cameras are not a feasible option. Such as my engine room."
"Are you... asking me to visit your engine room?"
"Yes."
I frowned. "But that's a restricted area."
"You are my security consultant," ART said, with the intonation that suggested it thought I was an idiot. "It would be strange if security was not allowed in every part of the ship."
"Even the weapons bay?" I was pretty sure that ART couldn't see my smirk, since I still had my face tucked in my arms, so I projected my feelings into the feed instead. ART shoved at me playfully.
"If there was an emergency, then of course you would be allowed in the weapons bay," it said.
"By that logic, I shouldn't go to the engine room either, unless there was an emergency."
ART sounded its alarms. "Oh no," it said flatly, "there seems to be an emergency in my engine room. If only there was a security consultant who could go investigate."
I sighed, making a rude gesture at a camera while I stood up.
"Shut that off, and delete it from your records. I don't want anyone asking why your alarms went off on a boring unremarkable cargo run."
Before I finished my sentence, ART had already done so, which pissed me off even more.
"I could just go to my room and block your feed," I said.
"That would make you an irresponsible security consultant," ART answered. "And besides, you don't want that. You want to go to my engine room."
"Asshole," I said, because it was right. As punishment, I blocked it and walked towards my room at a leisurely pace, ART's pings getting more insistent the closer I got. At the last moment, I diverted to where the schematics said the engine room was. ART was on me the moment I unblocked it.
"That was immature," it said.
"You're immature," I answered, which was not the greatest comeback in the world, but I was distracted because I had just opened the hatch to the engine room and wow, this place was— well, it was something. The air was a few degrees warmer here, and the floor vibrated faintly. There were pipes running off everywhere, and bundles of wires, neatly arranged and tied together in aesthetically pleasing patterns. It wasn't sleek and neat like the rest of ART, but I kind of liked it. It felt like I was seeing ART's insides, like it had seen mine so many times before when it repaired me or performed maintenance.
"Apologies for the mess," ART said. "Many parts need continuous lubrication, so it is infeasible to keep things clean."
Mess was a gross overexaggeration, in my opinion. "I'm pretty sure this is the cleanest engine room in existence," I said. "You're just a neat freak."
"I merely have high standards," ART replied huffily. "But I'm glad it meets your approval."
"What, am I some kind of inspector now?" I asked. ART felt strange in the feed, withdrawn and kind of... nervous? Wait, was it actually nervous about what I'd think of its engine room?
"It does meet my approval," I said, trying to sound sincere. "It looks..." I didn't want to say beautiful, even though that was the first word that came to mind, because it sounded too sappy. "It looks nice," I said instead. "Kind of... cozy? And very well-organized."
The spiky feeling in the feed that I hadn't even noticed until now disappeared. ART settled over me like some kind of overgrown fauna that thought it still fitted in their human's lap.
I pulled up a schematic of ART's engine room, and looked for places with a lot of sensors. It seemed like most of them were clustered around the actual machinery, which made sense, but there was a wiring box next to me that, according to the schematics, had some pressure and moisture sensors. I placed my hand on it.
"Oh," ART said. "I can feel that."
"Yes, that's the whole purpose of this," I responded, trying to sound unaffected by the sheer [wonder] ART was emitting in the feed. I moved my hand, kind of petting along the access panel, and ART let out another oh.
"You're kind of inarticulate today," I teased. ART squeezed around me.
"I'm simply enjoying the experience. But if you'd like me to speak more, I could tell you exactly how you're making me feel. I've been experimenting with poetry lately—"
"No, don't do that," I cut it off. ART emitted a strong sense of [smugness] and I shoved at it to make it stop, which didn't work. Then I remembered where I was and stroked firmly along the wiring box, and the smugness transformed into something else. Good.
I spent a while exploring, going from sensor cluster to sensor cluster, running my hands over wires and pipes and other things that I didn't know the name of. ART was in my brain the entire time, so I could feel a bit of what it was like for it, like an echo of sensation. It was kind of weird, feeling the interaction from both sides, but it was also kind of nice, and ART's [contentment] bleeding straight into my brain made it even better.
I was slowly making my way over to the center of the room, where a big cylinder-shaped thing laid that I suspected was the wormhole drive. (I could have checked on the schematics to make sure, but I was only using those to find sensor clusters, which the cylinder had a lot of.) It was slightly taller than me and easily three times as long, and it had a lot of wires and pipes going to (coming from?) it.
I took one of the cables and stroked along it, getting closer and closer to the probably-wormhole drive. There weren't any sensors on the cable itself, but the connector was sensitive, so ART could feel me moving the cable around. I tugged slightly, and ART sighed. Technically it couldn't do that, since it didn't have lungs, but it did something in the feed that somehow felt like sighing.
"I have an idea," ART said when I'd reached the end of the cable and put my hands on the cylinder itself. I looked at one of the cameras and raised my eyebrow.
"Don't be so sceptical," ART chided, which I thought was unfair since I hadn't even said anything. I just waited until it elaborated.
"My wormhole drive is sensitive to pressure, especially on its upper half where objects may fall on it. Due to thermal regulation protection, there are also many temperature sensors. Furthermore, it has a large smooth surface and its internal processes emit heat, causing the surface to be warm." It paused for half a second, which gave me enough time to think ah, I was right about the wormhole drive. I had a feeling where this was going, so I wasn't much surprised when ART continued with:
"I believe it would be pleasant for both of us if you were to lie down on the drive."
I wasn't sure how comfortable it would be to lie down on something hard and metal, especially compared to the soft chairs and bed that I was used to now, but ART made a compelling argument.
"All right," I said. "How do I get up there without damaging you?" I could easily jump up if I took a bit of a run-up, but the landing would be hard, and I wasn't sure how delicate the outer shell of the wormhole drive was.
A drone appeared from some or other hiding place, pushing a wheeled ladder in front of it. "The hull can handle forces of up to 10 kN," ART explained. "However, the vibrations caused by sudden impacts might affect the alignment of the booster wave collectors, so I advise you to move carefully."
"Wait," I said, suddenly apprehensive. "Can this hurt you?"
Instantly, ART was much stronger in my feed, pushing down the panic that was starting to appear when I realized how dangerous it was for me, a violent murderbot, to be in one of ART's most vulnerable places, and actually, maybe I shouldn't be here at all.
"Little idiot," ART said, pressing down on me reassuringly. "You cannot hurt me in any way that matters."
"I could just start shooting," I protested. "And I'm pretty sure if I took out a few of those cables your engines would stop running."
"But you won't," ART countered.
"I could."
"You won't." ART squeezed me tight in the feed, like it was warning me to stop arguing. "You are always careful with my body," it added. "You would not hurt me on purpose, and you cannot hurt me by accident. At most, if you were especially sloppy climbing up there, the collectors might slide one or two micrometers out of place and I would have to undergo maintenance a few weeks earlier than usual. Which would be worth it."
I sighed, still not really convinced.
"Do you trust me?" ART asked. I pulled a face. "What kind of question is that?" I asked, annoyed. "Of course I trust you. I wouldn't be letting you into my head if I didn't. It's me I don't trust."
"Then trust me to trust you," ART said.
Somehow, even though that sentence made no sense at all, it worked, and I felt my performance reliability tick up a few percentage points.
"Fine," I said. "But if something happens I get to say I told you so however many times I want."
ART filled the feed with [fondness], which felt good but also made me want to crawl into a corner and not speak to anyone for the next few hours. I fought through the feeling, instead taking hold of the ladder, which ART's drone had locked in place for me. I climbed up as carefully as I could. ART projected [exasperation] at me, but I could feel the [gratitude] underneath.
I laid down on my stomach, arms and legs spread. The curve of the surface made it more comfortable than I thought it would be. It was warm too, just the right temperature to feel nice while not risking overheating, and its gentle vibrations made my muscles relax. I sighed contentedly.
The longer I laid there, the calmer I felt. My body was slowly getting warmer, heating up to the temperature of the drive, like we were becoming one. I could feel myself through ART's sensors, which I expected to hate but didn't. It was actually kind of similar to how it felt when ART draped itself over me in the feed, except now it was my physical body draping itself over ART's. Hm. That kind of sounds like a hug. Well, if it was a hug, it was the best one I'd ever had.
ART gradually threaded itself deeper into my processes. Its feed presence was so relaxed it felt like it was melting, slowly flowing over me and into the cracks in my walls. Usually when we interfaced like this it was an active choice, but now it was more like we were both so malleable that we were melting together into one big relaxed soup. I lost track of which parts were mine and which were ART's, the wormhole calculations feeling just as natural as my risk assessment.
I lost track of time, too. I could have checked my chronometer at any point, but it was nice just lying there, not thinking about anything, feeling like time had stopped and we could just be like this forever.
I tapped a simple rhythm on the wormhole drive, and felt the vibrations move through the metal like it was my own body. It rippled through the feed as well, creating a pleasant sensation, like we were drifting along the waves of an ocean. Or maybe we were the ocean. In any case, it was nice. I sighed again and let myself drift.
...
It couldn't last forever, of course. Eventually, ART started shifting, slowly gathering the bits of itself that were scattered across me, pulling itself back together. My face tried to stick to the drive as I lifted my head (ew) and I could see through the cameras that the skin was red where it had touched the surface. I felt a little strange, like my body wasn't entirely under my control, and it took a lot of effort to get myself into a sitting position. Normally that would have made me panic, but for some reason threat assessment only went up by 0.2 percent.
"That was nice," I said as I absent-mindedly smoothed my hands over the drive's casing.
"It was quite satisfactory, yes," ART replied. "We should do it again sometime."
"Sure," I said. Then, I suddenly noticed the state of my body.
"I need a shower."
I had apparently been sweating, which I hadn't noticed in the moment but I sure did now, and a thin layer of grease stuck to all parts of me that had touched the wormhole drive.
"Apologies," ART responded. "As I said, it is infeasible to keep all surfaces clean."
"It's fine." I pulled ART closer in the feed, because I knew it was insecure about this and I wanted to be clear. I let it feel my emotions, which were overwhelmingly positive despite the [disgust] that was demanding more and more attention. I smiled at one of ART's cameras.
"It was worth it, anyway."