At some point during the fight Balin had dropped its wall and its designation as a CombatBot was now open on the feed. To the other bots it looked like one moment Balin was there, and the next its body was occupied by the CombatBot. They thought the CombatBot had killed Balin. I wasn’t sure they were wrong.
Balin stood there, carapace broken open, armor dented and cracked from repeated close-range projectiles, broken limbs trailing, as the other bots waited. There were no threats, no communication on the feed or comm, but the message was clear: we know what you are. None of these bots knew how to fight, but they were high functioning and would move to protect humans and each other from a violent intruder. Balin could try to fight; a CombatBot could destroy a cargo bot, no problem. But it couldn’t destroy this many cargo bots plus one slightly banged up SecUnit, not all at once.
Balin’s mission had depended on stealth. Now its mission was over. Its presence in the feed faded as it dropped into a resting configuration and shut itself down.
* * *
I was sitting on the platform of the Security Station’s MedUnit, getting my ankle adjusted, when Senior Indah came in.
（I’d already talked to Dr. Mensah on our secure feed. She had asked if I was all right and I said yes, which was sort of true but sort of not. Mensah and Dr. Bharadwaj had been trying to think up ways to make humans less afraid of SecUnits and here was Balin, or Balin’s secondary function, running around murdering humans, or a human. And Lutran’s elaborate refugee escape network was cut off, leaving the current group safe on Preservation but with no idea where the rest of their people had ended up. The Lalow crew might try to continue their part of it, but with BreharWallHan already on to them, they wouldn’t last long. As usual Mensah didn’t believe that I was all right but pretended to and said, Why don’t you come to the hotel when you’re done and we’ll do something fun.
All I wanted to do was watch media and not exist. I said, You know I don’t like fun.
Well, Ratthi has a reservation for the opening night of that new musical theater thing in Makeba Hall and he wants us all to go.
That … was actually really tempting. Also, guarding her in the hall would be easier if I was sitting with her. Still trying to resist, I said, You know you don’t like musical theater.
Yes, but I like to watch other people enjoy it. Are you coming?
I gave in, said yes, and cut the connection.）
Indah said, “Good to see you in one piece.”
Yeah, whatever. “You read my report?”
“I did.” She added dryly, “I’m glad you documented the whole process. It’s good to have a reminder that we actually didn’t do too badly, except for that one basic wrong assumption.”
The assumption that the perpetrator had entered the transport from inside the station instead of outside, she meant.
Balin had redirected the cargo bot in that area to the other end of the docks, then it had gone outside, walked across the station’s hull, and come in through the transport’s module lock and waited for Lutran. It had used the narrow rods in its hand, the rods that were part of its sealed hatch decoder, to stab him. Balin didn’t have any DNA to conceal, but part of its onboard PA equipment included a hazardous materials sterilizer. It had used that on Lutran’s body, to make it look like a human had killed him and had needed to remove contact DNA and any other traces left behind.
It had attacked the transport’s bot pilot to cover its tracks, then it had used Lutran’s ID to call the delivery cart, put the body in it, and sent it to dump it in the station mall, meaning to direct attention away from the port. Then it had returned to the station via the outside lock.
But it was a PA bot/CombatBot, not a SecUnit or a human. Its orders had been to kill Lutran, conceal its involvement, and deliver the refugees to the bounty-chasers, and that’s what it had done. It could anticipate some countermeasures to its actions but didn’t have the capacity to evaluate all the possible responses. And the bounty-chasers who were giving it orders hadn’t anticipated the fact that Preservation Station, unused to casual or any other kind of murder, would put the port into lockdown.
Unlike Indah, I wasn’t happy with our performance. Especially since I’d been the one to confuse everything by insisting the surveillance video on the transport dock had been altered. I just said, “I didn’t want anything to be left to the imagination.”
“Probably for the best.” Then Indah sighed, and said, “I wasn’t the one who sent that photo of you to the newsstreams.”