She sent back, Mensah has to give them something, but she sent to Mensah, It doesn’t want the feed ID.
Humans and augmented humans can have null feed IDs. I knew from my shows that it meant different things depending on what polity, station, area, etc., they lived in. Here on Preservation it meant “please don’t interact with me.” It was perfect. And I’d already agreed not to hack their systems, what the fuck else could they want?
Senior Indah said, “The feed ID doesn’t need to say anything other than what everyone else’s says, just name, gender, and…” She trailed off. She was looking at me and I was looking at her.
Pin-Lee pointed out, “Everyone else who has a feed ID has one voluntarily. Consensually, one might say.”
Senior Indah stopped looking at me to glare at Pin-Lee. “All we’re asking for is a name.”
I have a name, but it’s private.
On their secure feed connection, Pin-Lee sent to Mensah, Oh, that’s going to go over well. When station residents are running into “Murderbot”—
That’s one of the reasons why it’s private.
Mensah said to Indah, “I’m not sure we can agree to that.”
“Frankly, I don’t understand the problem.” Indah made a helpless gesture toward me. “I don’t even know what it wants to be called.”
Senior Indah was acting like she didn’t think she had made an unreasonable request. But the reason she was making it was that she didn’t trust me and she wanted any humans or augmented humans who came into contact with me to be warned, in case I decided to go on a murder rampage. Because being warned by my feed ID would, somehow, mitigate being shot, or something.
Mensah pressed her lips together and looked at me. She sent, Can you explain to her why it’s a problem for you?
I’m not sure I could. And I got why from their perspective it seemed like such a small thing. Maybe it was worth it to get this meeting over with and not have to listen to humans talk about how they didn’t want me anywhere near their precious station.
For a name, I could use the local feed address that was hard coded into my neural interfaces. It wasn’t my real name, but it was what the systems I interfaced with called me. If I used it, the humans and augmented humans I encountered would think of me as a bot. Or I could use the name Rin. I liked it, and there were some humans outside the Corporation Rim who thought it was actually my name. I could use it, and the humans on the Station wouldn’t have to think about what I was, a construct made of cloned human tissue, augments, anxiety, depression, and unfocused rage, a killing machine for whichever humans rented me, until I made a mistake and got my brain destroyed by my governor module.
I posted a feed ID with the name SecUnit, gender = not applicable, and no other information.
Indah had blinked, then said, “Well, I suppose that will have to do.”
That was the end of the meeting. Pin-Lee and Mensah hadn’t talked about it, but Pin-Lee had stomped off to have intoxicants with some of her friend humans. And Mensah had called her marital partners Farai and Tano on the planet, and said she thought the future of humanity was pretty dismal, and they should take all the kids, siblings, their kids, and assorted relatives and move to a shack in the terraforming sector on the unsettled continent and start working in soil reclamation, whatever that was.
（I wouldn’t enjoy it, but I could work with it. It would be a lot easier to guard her from GrayCris there. But Farai and Tano hadn’t gone for the idea.）
Then two cycles later, someone had sent a photo of me to the Station newsstream identifying me as the rogue SecUnit mentioned in all those Corporation Rim newsfeed rumors.
There was little surveillance in the station but, at least before the agreement not to hack station systems, I had still been redacting myself from it. This photo had come from another source, maybe an augmented human’s feed camera. It had clearly been taken after I had completed my memory repair, after a public inquiry about GrayCris that had been held in the large Preservation Council meeting chamber. Mensah was walking down the steps away from the council offices and I was standing behind her between Pin-Lee and Dr. Bharadwaj. We were all looking to the side, with various what-the-fuck expressions. （One of the journalists had just asked the council spokesperson if GrayCris reps would be allowed at the meeting.） （It had been such a stupid question, I had forgotten not to have an expression.）
Supposedly it wasn’t Senior Indah or anyone else from Station Security who had sent the photo to the newsstream. Right, sure.