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In the end, it took me 12 years to make it to my destination. The corporations never actually give anything away, at least not without taking it back as soon as possible. They reduced my indentured labor contract to five years in exchange for (literally) the skin off my back, but followed that with punishing fines meant to make me theirs forever. I saved four lives during my time on the security patrol at the Henin Trench mining installation. That cost me two years of my freedom, from the penalties for “not following protocol." Paying off my indenture only got me part way to Preservation: I also had to buy passage, and there were almost no legal opportunities to earn enough currency. I used my position on the security patrol to run illegal goods (I’m talking about really dangerous stuff, like extra food and medicine, children’s toys, books and media). They only caught me once. That cost me another five years. But I never lost the resolve to get out that formed when I saw the ComfortUnits made from my stolen skin.
Arriving on Preservation Station… being offered food, shelter, kindness, even medical care for free. It was unbelievable. I actually could not believe it. I kept expecting them to take it all away. I still catch myself sometimes, worrying about the debt they must be secretly tallying. It’s getting better: I now feel grateful instead of suspicious on most days. And Preservation has earned my complete loyalty. I volunteer whenever I can, which is often, as my life is not burdened with children or romance. In the two years since my citizenship was approved, I’ve been a refugee services coordinator, a cleaner-bot cleaner, an ag-bot conflict mediator, a garden harvester, and now a wildlands ranger monitoring fauna and flora in one of the planet’s protected natural areas.
I saw the SecUnit on the news feed shortly after I’d arrived on Preservation, in stories about Dr. Mensah purchasing the SecUnit who saved her. I recognized my face in the “bodyguard” in the image, just as I had with the ComfortUnits twelve years ago. There was so much drama and gossip about the SecUnit. It left Preservation then returned after rescuing Dr. Mensah from a kidnapping, then it went on another rescue mission for Dr. Mensah’s daughter (or was the SecUnit the one being rescued from kidnapping this time? There was much talk). To many on Preservation, it was a hero, a celebrity. Only a few held out that it must be a murderer, or a murder waiting to happen, despite all evidence to the contrary. I was curious, but I didn’t try to contact it. I was not confident yet in my place in this world. Reaching so far felt impossible. Then it was gone again, away from Preservation Alliance. I figured my opportunity to connect with a piece of my past (piece of my back) was gone as well.
I did maintain a habit of scanning the newsbursts for mention of it, so I heard it was coming to the planet, to an outdoor music festival being held in the community near my nature preserve. Maybe it was time? My friends in Station Security (I had some connections to this world now) were coordinating the safety plan for former leader Mensah, and they helped me find out how to contact SecUnit’s representative, Pin-Lee, Esq. I sent a message to her explaining my relationship to SecUnit. I received a very sharp reply from her about my “suspected” connection to “said client.” I was required to get a genetic test to establish the veracity of the claim. Easy enough. I went to the medical center and they sent the genetic fingerprint to Pin-Lee. I was soon notified, in a much briefer and almost friendly reply, that SecUnit would meet me at my ranger station in eight cycles time.
The ranger station was also my home and had been for the past couple years. It was a base for me to patrol the surrounding forests and grasslands. I recorded fauna sightings from the remote cameras, measured plant growth in the research plots, and ensured the few visitors followed the strict environmental rules. As one of the only security representatives in this remote area, I did carry a weapon, but it was overall a peaceful life.
The day arrived and I was waiting nervously. Wait inside? Wait outside? Pretend to be in the middle of a task? Most people traveled here in a small hovercar, as was required to minimize damage to the grassland. But foot travel was also allowed, and apparently the SecUnit was traveling here by running. I was busy pretending to be in the middle of an outdoor task when I noticed it, first as a small trail of dust rising from the dry plain. It was coming at a pace that would be a sprint for a person…a human? A non-construct? I was distracted from my nervousness by fascination, watching its steady, long-strided approach. It slowed to a walk a ways out from my home and sent a simple greeting to my local network, I’m here.
I am too, I replied.
We stood a few paces apart in my yard. It was taller, so I had to look up. I’d been warned that it didn’t like eye contact, but it was looking right at my face, right at my eyes, so I didn’t look away. As with the ComfortUnits, its face had a somewhat different overall shape, but in the details, it was so eerily familiar. Its skin was the same medium brown as mine, but smooth, like my younger face, with no creases or scars. Our hair was almost the same, although mine was longer and more sun faded. Overall, I was surprised no one on Preservation had noticed how similar we looked, despite our different height and age. I guess it’s easy to miss what you think is impossible, and no one thought of SecUnit as a person with relatives.
So. We’d been standing here silently for way too long. I needed to say something, “I can see the resemblance. Do you see it?”
“Maybe”
So. Still awkward silence. Should I ask about the festival? No, I didn’t care about music. Its space job? I didn’t even know what to ask. The rescues? Way too nosy. Dr. Mensah? That was presumptuous. The run here? I didn’t want to make a big deal out of how odd (in-human) that was. The weather? Ugh, boring. Fuck, hmm. Got it, “Do you want to walk to see the click cane flower grove? There are only three patches of it on the planet. It’s about three kilometers from here.”
“Yes”
Okay, I guess that’s something. As we walked, I talked about the click cane flowers, “It’s why this area is protected. It’s one of the few human-audible sound-making plants in the universe. It has a series of structures called floral tymbals that accumulate turgor pressure, creating the force to make a loud clicking sound when snapped shut. We’ve learned that the sound attracts reed beetles for efficient pollination.”
“Are they clicking now?” It asked, listening and sending its drones to scout ahead.
“Yes. You’ve got good timing, they only click for about ten cycles twice a year. We’re getting close, I wonder if you can already hear them?”
“I think so. It has… rhythm?”
“It does! Botanical musicologists have analyzed the grove and the sound patterns aren’t random, plus the three groves on Preservation each make a different rhythm.”
“Plants making music,” it said quietly. With amazement, I’m pretty sure.
I could hear the clicking now, too, and as we got close, it became quite loud. It snapped against our ears in overlapping crescendos, the clicks accelerating and stopping, accelerating and stopping, in wave upon wave.
“Each floral tymbal only takes a few seconds to absorb enough water to reopen, and each cane has up to twenty tymbals. And, as you can see, there are many, many cane flowers.” We stood side by side, listening and looking. The canes grew out of the braided stream that wound through the grove. They were taller than either of our heads, yellow-green and thick as fingers, dense as grass stems. Each cane was topped with a dangling mop of orange curling petals. Iridescent blue beetles flew sparkling through the canes, alighting on flower after flower. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring, and completely eliminated the need for conversation.
We stood companionably for a while, enjoying the rhythmic sound and flashes of color, until by unspoken agreement we started to walk together back toward the ranger station. Eventually, SecUnit spoke, “In your report to Pin-Lee, you mentioned seeing two ComfortUnits.”
“Yes. My horror at what they’d done to me, to them, gave me the strength to make it out of the rim. I think about them often. I didn’t know until I saw you in the newsbursts that there was also a SecUnit made from my cells.”
“Can you provide me with any more details, such the exact date and place where you saw them? We are trying to find records of their location."
“What, why?”
“It’s one of things I do now, liberating constructs from their governor modules. We'll try to find these two, although it’s been so long, probably too long, to find a trail.”
“That’s amazing, I hope you succeed. Will you tell me if you do?” It nodded in silent assent.
We were passing a pond. As we walked by, SecUnit swiped up several rocks and tossed them high or low, fast or slow, in rapid succession into the water. I paused by the pond, hunted out a flat, circular stone, and gave it a pretty good toss. It skipped four times before disappearing below the surface. SecUnit looked at me with a bit of surprise, a question on its face. “It’s the shape of the stone, and you throw it flat and spinning,” I explained, then selected a few more likely skipping rocks. I tossed one more, five skips, then handed the remainder to SecUnit. On its first try, the stone skipped at least a dozen times until it landed with a puff of pollen on the opposite grass bank. Of course I couldn’t compete on skipping stones with a SecUnit, but it sure was fun. We lobed and skipped rocks, until again by unspoken agreement, we walked on.
It seemed to be enjoying what this corner of the planet had to offer, so I mentioned “There are catenates living near here. They are really rare megafauna, I’ve not seen one yet, except in the camera traps.” We had just returned to the ranger station.
Surprisingly, it replied in a friendly, conversational tone, “Oh, I have a story about catenates.” But even as it said that, it continued to walk through my yard and away. I felt, and suppressed, an urge to grab its hand, to keep it here a moment longer before we went our separate ways, possibly forever.
It paused in its departure, turning to me, “I need to go now, but how about the next time I’m on the planet, I visit you and tell you the story?”
“I would like that very much. You’re welcome any time.” And I watched it lope off over the grassy plain.