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"This is a bad idea," said SecUnit, arms crossed, leaning against the steel wall. It was still here, though, which I knew Ratthi appreciated greatly. (He had taken my presence for granted, which I think I should have taken offence to, but I only felt strangely pleased he knew I'd agree to help.) "There are thirty-one different ways this could go horribly wrong in the next five minutes." It paused for a second. "Thirty-two."
"SecUnit," cried Ratthi, distraught, stumbling to his feet. I knew he was thinking about our contact and whether she'd make it to the rendezvous point. "Do you think Vanya's in trouble?" I patted his hand, and he sat back down, still worried and wound-up. It turned out smuggling proprietary analysis hardware was difficult. Who'd have guessed? The hardware had been purchased and paid for, but Customs was throwing a fit for extra cash and our seller wasn’t having it.
"I will need to scout ahead," said SecUnit, inclining its head, directing two drones around the corner. It couldn't use the station security systems, unfortunately—we were on Coriolis Aspect, and the surveillance on Aspect stations was a nightmare. For starters, the cameras were some kind of closed system that used physical wiring to avoid the feed. And it was easy to see why: Aspect feeds were a loud, confusing mess of stubborn advertising, designed to make you pay for a blocker just to make it stop. It gave Ratthi a nasty surprise when we passed through the transit hub; it interrupted my thoughts and made my head ring; I could only imagine how intrusive they must’ve been to SecUnit. It probably used some kind of inbuilt feed blocker, now that I thought about it.
Before getting here, I'd made sure to download the latest Aspect advertising blacklist from my underground contacts and refit it for my augment. It was a clever bundle of data that let me automatically dismiss every message that wasn't from a contact or explicitly signed by a Station Authority. It also updated my directory of Aspect "deadzones"—areas in the station where we would still get the feed, but no advertising. We were currently standing in one of these deadzones: a corner hidden to the side of one of the freight elevators, probably overlooked on blueprints given to sponsors. (And HVAC system suppliers! I was lucky Ratthi ran warm. My toes were ten little icicles, though, there was no helping that.)
The blacklist file I'd snagged also contained the keys for those levels of the feed usually reserved for maintenance crews and bot traffic—no advertising there, thankfully. Just the soothing background noise of a station at work.
This relative silence was the only reason I noticed SecUnit acting odd.
It was just a little thing. Half a second’s pause at the corner, right where I knew the advertising blitz began. As though it had seen something surprising—or encountered a wall of sponsored noise. Why didn’t it have its feed blocker up? Perhaps it was using an old blacklist. I reached out over the feed and found it had blocked all incoming traffic.
That was certainly one way to deal with the problem. I frowned at SecUnit, who hadn’t moved from its spot just around the corner. It wouldn’t move if it couldn’t ensure our safety, and that included being able to respond to calls for help. The way things were, it wouldn't be able to receive anything from us.
Would it find my blacklist helpful? I felt apprehensive about sending it. I knew SecUnit could be trusted, of course, and it was highly competent at precisely this sort of thing. And it’s not like I hadn’t used the underground's resources to help SecUnit before, when I’d sourced counterfeit identification and currency cards for it. The blacklist was… just another resource, surely.
“SecUnit,” I hissed.
SecUnit didn’t move, of course, but I noticed it stepped back and allowed incoming messages again. I quickly sent it the blacklist and the utility that ran it on most augmented human hardware. It probably didn’t need that second one, but sending it couldn’t hurt.
(Ratthi squinted at me. He was running at maximum frettage and didn't need more things to worry about. I shook my head and made a vague gesture; he didn't look any more relieved, but that was understandable. "You're being cryptic again," he groused, but it wasn't in earnest.)
There was no response from SecUnit, of course, but I noticed that it didn’t block incoming traffic again. Not even when it began moving forward into the station. Perhaps the blacklist had been useful, then. That was really the best I could hope for.
…
Weeks later, at a festival—
I plucked at Ratthi's sleeve. “I’m going to, ah.” I gestured in the direction of a tree, wincing as things spun in the periphery. My own voice thundered in my skull. “For a moment. It’s... loud.”
Ratthi’s brow creased in understanding sympathy. He and one of the kids—either Alia or Anja, they really did look very alike—helped me to the tree and I sat on one of the large embroidered cushions scattered around the base. I made an honest attempt to regroup, taking the tree as a focus. The tree—Electricae radialem, supplied my onboard identifier, only a tree in the loosest sense of the word—was a massive thing with huge branches, splayed out skyward like fingers on an open hand. I rested my head on the trunk and looked at it up close, keeping my breathing steady. Its surface was smooth and translucent, and I could see lines of various fluids moving around underneath. It also glowed very softly, the light moving in a wave rippling from base to branch tip, and whatever created the glow generated a very low, almost imperceptible hum. I kept the hum in my mind; it lapped at me like the tide, a gentle repetition that surrounded me until the loudness of everything else had dulled somewhat.
I blinked, then looked up and nodded at Ratthi. He shot me an encouraging sort of smile. "You sit here and relax for now," he said, keeping his voice soft. "Nutan and the others want some moonflower taffy and they're starting a new batch in the food court. You call if you need anything, okay?"
"Have fun," I said, and I meant it. Supervising eight sugar-powered children would be fun for Ratthi as long as he didn't actually have to do any supervision. No, SecUnit was with us, as the third and only Responsible Adult in our group, and it knew where all the kids were at all times. Somehow. I was glad, honestly. I had been the Responsible Adult before it arrived, and there were few things I was less equipped to be. (Despite our differences, I was certain SecUnit would agree with me there.)
It also helped that the kids thought SecUnit was cool.
Ratthi squeezed my shoulder and gathered Alia (or Anja) before catching up with the rest of the group. I watched them get swallowed by the festival crowd, all eating and drinking and playing with enthusiasm. Someone popped something to high-pitched screams of protest and delight, and glittery dust flew through the air. A group of wandering drummers played something very loud and rhythmic. Bright clothes and pennants danced in the breeze. It was all a little too much at once—I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the humming of the tree behind me. There was a reason why I didn't attend too many of these… but it was fun when I could.
I felt something small bump into my shoulder. An insect? I turned and saw one of SecUnit's surveillance drones. Could it have… it wouldn't forget a drone, would it? "Hello," I said, and then I didn't know what to say. Are you lost? just seemed condescending, really. I wasn't even sure if that was possible.
The drone sent me a message about an incoming message. I accepted—and winced as it sent over a fairly large packet. SecUnit, no. Coding in this sort of situation was—oh. It was an input filter. I glanced at the drone, then examined the filter in more detail.
It was surprisingly simple. A little resource-intensive, perhaps, but it would take anything too loud or too eye-catching and dull it to a level that was easier to handle. The code was some of the most elegant work I'd seen, too, with none of the debris that tended to accumulate around the edges of this kind of modification. Had SecUnit written this? I made a few adjustments so it would work with my augment, then activated it.
(Some part of me acknowledged that I would have picked apart the code with a fine-toothed comb had it been from anybody else. Perhaps it was a little unwise to trust anyone like this. I found myself trusting SecUnit anyway.)
The change registered slowly. The drumming became quieter, but still audible. Shrieks and yells from children running past were softer, less jarring. Their colourful shawls and scarves were closer in colour, no longer quite so hard to process.
I looked around. I deactivated the filter, then reactivated it before the wave of sensory noise broke over me.
"Thank you," I told the drone, and I couldn't entirely keep emotion out of my voice. The drone pointedly flew away before circling back around and perching on my shoulder. It felt like an honour, somehow. I took it as such.