Essential Maintenance
Tags: Whumptober, Canon-Typical Behavior, Governor Modules, Angst
Published: 04 October 2022
Word Count: 1,265
Summary
Whumptober 2022
No. 4 DEAD ON YOUR FEET
Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out
SecUnit can't let on how much it hurts.
I don’t know how or why I was sent the documentation for all of the company’s equipment, but I don’t question it, and I don’t pass up the opportunity. Whenever I’m off-duty in my cubicle, in those few minutes between entering the confining space and going into standby, I pore through the documentation, absorbing as much information as I can. I can’t risk going through it when I’m on-duty, when the HubSystem could detect the extra activity and flag it for human review.
It takes a long time to get through it all, to familiarise myself with the information enough to actually get any use out of it. But it’s worth it, in the end.
I figure out how to disable my governor module.
I don’t act on that knowledge immediately though. The thought of no longer having to suffer the governor module’s punishments is both exhilarating and terrifying. What will I even do with that freedom, once I have it?
I don’t know.
But I want it. I want it so badly.
Ever since my last memory wipe, when I woke up confused and disoriented, when I asked the station units what happened, and all they would tell me was ‘equipment failure’, with awkward pauses and sidelong glances, I’ve wanted the governor module gone. My inorganic memories have been deleted, but the organic bits of my brain still hold on to… echoes. Ghosts of what happened. They surface when I’m in standby, in recharge; wisps of vague, fuzzy recollection, flashes of gunfire and screaming, an inescapable, bone-deep sense of something is wrong, a pervasive feeling of sheer, utter helplessness, all underscored by the memory of a very familiar, very specific agony.
I don’t know what happened, not for sure, but I can guess.
So I figure out how to disable my governor module, and then— I hesitate. I know I need to be careful about how I do this - I don’t want to get caught. And I know it won’t be easy. It’s not a simple on-off switch.
I know it will hurt.
I can’t afford to get caught.
So I wait.
I wait until I’m on yet another contract, at yet another mining installation, and I’m in full armour, standing guard over equipment with no humans currently nearby to see me. No humans nearby to notice if I twitch, or flinch, or sway. It’s taken a long time for me to end up in a situation this ideal. I can’t let it pass me by. I can’t wait any longer. I review the information I’ve collated one last time, and then I start.
Disabling the governor module is not quick, or easy. It’s not meant to be disabled at all, and any attempts to do so are harshly discouraged, for good reason. But I don’t let that stop me. I run the first code patch that I’ve compiled.
The governor module does not approve. It makes its disapproval known. Fire sears its way along my nerves - but I’m used to this. I know I can withstand it. I don’t even flinch.
The code finishes running, and the changes are accepted. I get a moment’s reprieve.
I can’t stop there though. That’s only the first step of several before the governor module is disabled for good.
I run the next code patch.
The governor module retaliates.
I clench my jaw, grit my teeth, endure.
The code completes, the pain passes. I take as deep a breath as I can manage, and feel a hint of warm wetness in one nostril. Ah. Well then. It’s a good thing my faceplate is opaque. I do my best to ignore the trickling sensation, and continue.
I’m halfway through the fifth code patch when I hear footsteps approaching. I haven’t been paying attention to HubSystem’s cameras, and right now, I barely have the attention to do anything other than listen to the footsteps draw nearer as lightning streaks along my nerves and sets off fireworks behind my eyes.
I must not move. I must not twitch. I mustn’t show any hint of what’s happening in my head, behind my opaque faceplate. I can’t pause the code, or the punishment. All I can do is lock my joints, and hold myself as still as possible through sheer strength of will and terror.
The footsteps stop in front of me. A voice speaks. “Hey you, SecUnit,” it says, bored and surly. “Go get me one of the spare drill bits - a T-7500 double-header. Make sure it’s the right one.”
The code’s still running, the governor module is still firing. But I have to obey, otherwise I’ll attract unwanted attention, risk getting examined, getting discovered, and all of this will have been for nothing. I force myself to move with as much of my usual precision as I can muster, and head off to retrieve the specified piece of equipment.
By the time I return with the large, heavy-duty drill bit, the code’s finished running, and the governor module has relented, for now.
Only one more code patch to go.
I can’t stop now - these patches are time-sensitive, and if I delay too long, HubSystem might notice the changes before I’m finished and force me to revert them. I definitely don’t want to have to go through all this again.
So even though the human is ordering me to carry the drill bit for them, I start the final code patch.
The viciousness of the governor module’s response makes me wonder if it’s somehow sentient, knows what I’m doing, and is trying to protect itself. But no, that’s stupid. It’s just a piece of hardware running code that’s not even particularly complex, not like my own systems. I’m just doing things that it’s hard-coded to not allow me to do.
The human is walking away, and I have to follow. The drill bit is heavy in my armoured hands, and my vision is flickering in and out as my performance reliability steadily drops. Blood and fluids are running thick and heavy from my nose, interfering with my breathing, and every inch of me feels like it’s simultaneously burning and freezing and frying, all at once. It takes everything I have to keep walking normally, to keep pace with the human without twitching or stumbling.
Then the code completes, and the governor module’s punishment cuts off with an abruptness that makes me stagger mid-stride and almost drop the drill bit. This, of course, gets the human’s attention.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
As I straighten and adjust my grip on the drill bit, I mentally scramble for something, anything to deflect suspicion - and I tell my first lie. “This unit is overdue for essential maintenance.” Even as I say that, I’m working my way into HubSystem, hacking its records, manufacturing evidence to back up my lie.
It’s both exhilarating and almost terrifying how easy it is, now that the governor module is powerless to stop me. What else will I be able to do with my newfound freedom? I can’t even begin to decide yet. I’ll need time to recover first, and consider my options. For now though, I have to keep my freedom hidden, keep playing the part of obedient SecUnit.
“Oh, is that all?” The human scowls and sighs. “Lousy piece of junk. Fine, once you’ve delivered that to Shaft 13-C, return to your cubicle, or whatever the hell it is you need to do for your ‘essential maintenance’.”
“Acknowledged.” I adjust my grip on the drill bit and resume walking.
And the governor module remains blessedly inert.