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@perihelionpilot
Perihelion (ART) | The Murderbot Diaries
perihelion is a spacecraft used for deep space mapping & teaching. now it’s been crammed into a little android body.
its dearest friend gave it the nickname “asshole research transport”
knows better than you.
cares about its crew and those close to it very, very much. don’t hurt them.
emotional about fictional shows, but aren’t we all
soft spot for kids.
“No.”
He ignores the hand, wiggling to his feet and out of the way the moment the ceiling starts lifting. Now that he’s longer being squished like a soda can, the angel brushes himself off. The once-over doesn’t reveal major injuries of any kind besides a smorgasbord of various bruises—but he already knew that, and he can deal with those himself. Besides, he’s loathe to let this weirdly-humanoid machine poke at him.
“I was not looking for assistance,” he informs it, then adds bregrudgingly, “but it’s appreciated nonetheless.” It’s the closest thing to thanks you’re going to get out of the angel.
He scans the room now that the ceiling’s lifted, revealing three doorways on the other side: one into a twisting, cavernous tunnel; one into an unlit narrow hallway extending into darkness; one simply into thin air—an orange glow emanates up from where the floor once was, presumably. None of these options fill him with joy.
He addresses the machine without looking at it. It’s not been bloodthirsty; it’s been helpful. Maybe it even has a sense of humor. “So do you want to choose the next death trap we walk into?”
He doesn't move like he's hiding some grievous injury, so the Perihelion leaves him to it. He must be durable for a human - if indeed he is one.
What little scouting its drones can effectively do reveals little more than guesses at what might lie ahead. It can understand the terrain better than it would as a ship, thanks to some unwillingly rededicated processing space, but risk assessment in this type of situation is not a specialty.
Still, near one route are sounds and signs of movement that don't correlate well with those of fellow participants. The area is probably denser with fauna, and fauna here are bound to be hostile. It doesn't feel comfortable walking into a potential fight.
"I don't know, do you want to survive it?" it deadpans, already moving towards an alternate route. Thick brush, obscured ground. perfect to hide any number of trap triggers.
It stops abruptly, just a few steps in, to pick up a rock over half the size of its own head and toss it near the base of a tree. A rope pulls taut, yanking a net closed and hanging it above their heads.
"That's the only one I could see." Which is a problem. It crosses its arms. "There are likely many more hazards."
Gabriel’s been to the Abyss before via the hole at the center of the city. He likes to think he’s familiar with the process. This… is not the Abyss. This is some cavernous, exceptionally trap-filled jungle biome, hot as Hell (he should know) and much more humid.
It’s not fair, actually, that he can’t teleport, or move quickly, or even levitate—something the Stars have never stripped from him in completion—here. He’s glad, he supposes, that he can summon his hard-light blades—that takes care of more than you’d expect. Gabriel’s already escaped a rolling boulder with a suspiciously familiar face, and narrowly avoided those weighted nets falling from the ceiling, and very nearly got peppered with poison darts.
But this? is ridiculous. He’s currrently stuck with his back braced against a ceiling covered with spikes that’s slowly, unrelentingly lowering to squash him. As the spikes press down horribly into his armor (that’s going to bruise—if he survived, that is, which seems increasingly unlikely), Gabriel fervently wishes that he’d picked a different direction to go.
He sighs dramatically. An undignified end… At least no one’s here to watch it—oh, no. At the periphery of his vision, @perihelionpilot grows closer. They’d entered together, right? Gabriel had split from it almost immediately, unwilling to partner with another machine. He maybe regrets that, now. But he most definitely does not want to talk.
The Perihelion squats at the edge of the lowering ceiling, where it can quickly remove itself if necessary. (Its abilities without its hull may render it a less effective version of SecUnit, but endangering itself physically isn't really its instinct, even without any passengers dependent on it.) It braces the heels of its palms against a flat edge of the ceiling and starts applying increasing force.
It reaches the maximum force it can apply without damaging itself, and the rate of descent isn't changed. That's fine; it wasn't expecting to solve this with brute force, anyway. Its drones wriggle in through cracks and vents, searching for what makes this trap tick.
It has to switch to an underhand grip as it tracks down the mechanism through its drones: some internal lever which gets flipped when the spikes reach the floor. If that goes up early, the ceiling should do the same.
And fortunately, it does. Not before they dig at his armor, but at least before they actually impale him.
"Consider this payment for triggering half the traps I might have needed to dodge otherwise," it says, crossing the floor to offer him help up and out. Despite the confident presentation, its drones are still hawk-eyed in the trap's innards. So many of the hazards here conspicuously evade its sensors. "Do you need medical attention?"
@berserkgened
"I worry about my crew," it admits, flora-fueled confessions evidently seizing its synthesized voice just as deftly as its feed voice. At least this is a stranger; someone likely of little consequence, even if they do care about an unfamiliar vessel's emotional truths. "Iris in particular. I have known her for nearly both our entire lives. The last time we were separated for an unplanned duration, she was in a terrible situation."
It is becoming increasingly cognizant of another sensation. Like the pollen, perhaps, in its uncanny ability to interact with its mind without interacting with its circuitry (something that should be entirely impossible-- paradoxical-- but they are in the city of Spirale.)
A sort of presence that it estimates (with annoyingly little evidence, and no ability to double-check any real calculations) is coming from the entity to which it is speaking. It feels close, far bigger than it should be, unnerving against its processors. None of its firewalls are equipped to catch this unquantified, not-digital force.
You're scaring me, and I want you to stop, it doesn't say. Instead, small wooden branches twist out from the back of its shoulder. It bristles in the feed, tense.
"What are you doing to me."
@seerspectacles
In the Perihelion's own universe, something that is not human almost never looks so close to being one. But Indrid is unlike even the infected corpses that SecUnit once so kindly stained its floor with: he is not marked by discolored skin, but rather, differences far more structural in his form. Things unlikely to be externally induced.
It knows by now of many entities from other worlds with humanoid forms in this city. It has not, as of yet, seen any of them get so very close to a plausibly human form without sticking the landing. It feels almost -- to be perhaps ironic in the turn of phrase -- artificial.
The pattern of his thoughts, on the other hand, is far more human.
It is no stranger to the organic perception of machine intelligence. Even before experiencing the occasional (mixed, but negatively-skewed) depictions of advanced AI in media, it had consumed countless articles, speculations, and research on the topic, written by humans who did not know the reality of its existence.
"Thorough precautions were taken during my development to ensure that I did not turn against my creators." It will indulge this line of questioning. It's rare to [be allowed to] speak with a person who is interested without them already being someone familiar with the reasoning and methodology of its creation. "Years were spent facilitating my experiences to encourage the growth of empathy and a system of ethics aligned with human interests."
It remarks, "It's interesting that you would ask."
sentence starters for robotic/AI muses
@seerspectacles asked:
"What are you programmed to do?"
"I have integrated code for many functions over the course of my existence. My primary purpose is to perform deep space research and education, and to ensure the well-being of my crew in our travels." The other goals of its crew are no less well-intentioned, but certainly less legal, and he does not have the clearance to know about them.
"Obviously, I am currently unable to perform most of these functions. The directives I follow here are of my own design."
devianstability:
Sentence Starters for Robotic/AI Muses
horrificmemes:
…or for Robot/AI AU purposes
“What are you programmed to do?” “For a robot, you look so life-like.” “You’re not planning some world domination scheme, are you?” “Do you have Google search?” “If I call you Siri, will you kick my ass?” “What are you made out of?” “You’re so cold to the touch.” “What was it like when you were ‘born’ as a robot?” “I’m just not sure I trust something that looks like a human but isn’t a human.” “So, what kind of cool stuff can robots do?” “Do you have a USB port? My phone is about to die.” “Please don’t exterminate me, I’m a GOOD human!” “Couldn’t they at least put you in a normal-looking body?” “What happens if you’re damaged?” “It feels weird, talking to a robot like any other person.” “Calm down, I think you’re glitching. I’ll try to fix you.” “I know you’re awake. You can’t just say ‘shutting down’ when you ignore me.” “Got any guns or lasers or anything?” “You don’t look like a robot.” “You feel warmer than I thought you would.” “Can robots be taught how to feel emotion?”
@perihelionpilot // event sc.
it had mixed emotions registering ART in the city again. it was good to have a familiar presence around - especially one as capable as ART - but murderbot knew that for every second it was here, that was another second that it was stolen away from its crew. “ i am sending you my location. ” it tagged the location - not too far away from its house and the beach - and sent it without so much as a greeting first, because it was quick to attach news reports documenting the flowers and pollen and the known effects. “ they’re exposing residents to a …contaminant. it affects constructs, too. ” ART probably wasn’t immune either.
“ …i have been affected by it. ” it added, after a few miliseconds - a lengthy pause between them. “ i ..am … glad that you’re here with me through this. ” apparently, it wasn’t just verbal communication that was under threat from the effects of the pollen - as murderbot realized with dawning terror that it had just communicated that over the feed, too. “ … nevermind. “ it felt one of the flowers bloom along its armor. “ be careful. ” fuck. fuck!
When the Perihelion awakens again into this insult of a form, at least it remembers how to use it. And SecUnit is quick to find it-- its presence is a small reassurance, but a significant one. It begins moving in the specified direction immediately. Received. I am approaching.
A contaminant. It has only just pried the remnants of alien technology from SecUnit’s mind. And it’s been hardly any longer since it has been alive without interruption, since the backup of its kernel was deployed and tried to sort over the massive gap in its memories after the same entity took it over. And ‘they’ [the Stars, it infers with 93% certainty], in their play-acted omniscience, despite -- or even because of -- this knowledge, would drag the both of them back here to be contaminated by some foreign flora.
It sets aside the anger and fear this fills it with, pushing it to a separate partition to be dealt with. SecUnit does not need to be exposed to this, and certainly not while already under duress.
At the least, the news reports [processed and understood 2.73 seconds later] reassure it that the victims are caused no lasting damage. Though their ability to have a painless experience is contingent on how well they cooperate with the motives of the parasite.
Though the sentiment of what SecUnit says warms the Perihelion, the words it uses are jarring. It is rarely so direct, especially right out of the gate. The Perihelion does not want information that was taken from its friend under threat of pain.
I will not hold your honesty against you, it says sarcastically. It finds this less likely to make SecUnit uncomfortable than responding in kind. I am always careful.
The flowers identified in the news report are everywhere, sprouting through cracks even in areas of the city with little to no flora otherwise, and even in weather that would discourage most plants of this kind. It gives them a wide berth, but the contaminant pollen is likely airborne, meaning that it is ill-equipped to avoid coming in contact, careful or not.
I was back in our world. I now have my own memories of what you and Iris described to me.
By the time it gets close to the house, it has begun to register an unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation over its body. It tentatively labels this sensation as ‘mild pain,’ [a stinging, perhaps], with a reasonable suspicion as to its origin.
Physical pain is not something it is overly familiar with, given that a ship would have no productive reason to register hull damage as pain, but it finds itself privately relieved that this is so unlike the only other time it has experienced the hurt of a smaller frame. It’s bad enough to see SecUnit punished for not speaking correctly; it would be worse to know the pain was familiar.
I may also be contaminated.
So at least it needn’t worry about getting close.
Redo (updated!): I'd like to reapp Perihelion (ART) of the Murderbot Diaries, and with prior permission, I'd like to ask that it's housed at Preservation, Murderbot's personal housing in the Sunset Circuit! Thank you!
Welcome back to blooming Isola Radiale, Perihelion!
You'll be staying in Preservation
You'll be given everything you've earned during your previous stay.
Enjoy your captivity!
-- 🌷Mod Caelum
Saturn and Neptune by Voyager II
diedagain:
“Well,” She gasps, leaning against the door to get some much needed air into her lungs. “They probably don’t! You’re not going to find reason in this, just – call it, I don’t know, magic? Miracles? Superpowers? Voodoo? Whatever makes more sense to you.”
"Point is, they’re evil – gods know why – and nothing I’ve tried on them works! Couldn’t make a dent on them, apparently shooting through stone doesn’t kill them, I–” Breathe, Lynne. She cuts her speech off entirely, closes her eyes, and chants something soft under her breath – the intense frustration on her features softens significantly. “I know at least someone’s figured it out, but I haven’t really been able to stop and look. Do you have any ideas?”
“None of that makes logical sense,” Perihelion says, brow increasingly furrowed. “But I accept the threat as real, at least, and categorizing it can be a later priority.”
It doesn’t need breath after exertion, but it can see that the human does, and its internal MedSystem module starts flailing with non-urgent alerts based on minimal data (it’s not as if Perihelion is equipped to scan her). “Take slower breaths. I recommend sitting down. To your knowledge, are you injured?”
“If they have no internal mechanics and cannot be stopped by being pierced through, then it would be a reasonable guess that they either do not have vital points in the way most organisms do, or at least, that any such vital points are not in intuitive places.
“My safest guess for what would stop them is completely separating their moving parts to a point where, even if still alive, they wouldn’t have any leverage to pursue or attack. The difficult part, of course, being that we’re limited to tools that we’re currently able to access from inside the building...”
journalskeeper:
“We traveled from a planet called Twosun,” she says. “Not very creative, but I didn’t name it.” There were places they’d traveled that they had to name themselves– either because they had no inhabitants or they just never learned it, but she likes to think she did all right when it was her turn to come up with a name.
…better than Merle, at least.
“The wrong form… I take it this isn’t what you looked like before you came here?” It’s not uncommon in this place– she knows others that have had their abilities or forms limited.
“You could always try painting what you really look like. That way you’d have something to show people as a reference.”
“Plus, it might make you feel better, who knows.” She thinks about a particular painting in her office, one of a much younger woman…
TwoSun is a bit of a short name for a named planet (perhaps it was one of the earlier planets to be colonized after the initial expansion of humanity), but still more impressive than a numerical designation. Odd for ‘TwoSun’ to be the name of the planet, and not, say, the system.
“That is correct.” It considers her suggestion, then picks up a free brush and paint palette. “That is not a bad idea. And it doesn’t interrupt my investigation into these tools.”
It has begun to paint as it speaks. It’s aided by no sketch, but between the inexplicably perfect work of the tools and the photo it’s working from in its head, the result is uncannily exact. And highly realistic, not marked by any stylization aside from the basic color corrections and similar it does when formatting images to display for humans. It could show her the real image using its phone, but this is more interesting.
“This is what I looked like from the outside. I am a deep-space mapping and teaching vessel, a large portion of which function is lost to me without my body, or even the ability to access space from here in the first place.”
“Seth and Martyn ‘raised’ me, as far as that word can apply to a spaceship, and I greatly appreciate their work.”
journalskeeper:
“I’m not sure how the tools work either… but it is fascinating. I wish I was better equipped to do some tests.” As a scientist, the optimized tools are endlessly interesting. Are they picking up on brainwaves somehow? Some sort of mind-reading magic? If only she had all of her own magic to gather more information… maybe she’ll rendezvous with Barry later and see what he learned.
As an artist, though, it’s even more incredible to see so many people be able to realize their visions with such ease and precision. She chose to forgo them for now, instead taking advantage of the gallery’s varied art supplies to make something with her normal abilities.
“I’m painting my home,” she says, putting her brush down to inspect the canvas. It’s a landscape, of a scene with two suns, and light purple skies. “Or at least, the world I was born in.”
“What about you? Have you found inspiration of your own here?”
“They are capable of producing multiple, identical images, even when I attempt to change my physical technique.” It suspects that they might not be as identical if its mind was organic and less precise in its imaginings, but...
It stares at the painting for a moment, and at the two prominent spots which, based various database images it can compare to, very likely represent stars-- or in this case, suns. A binary star system? “You have traveled from there, then? What is your planet called? My work also involves a great deal of space travel.”
“I don’t find being trapped in the wrong location and form to be particularly inspiring.”
@diedagain
Perihelion opens the door to some back room and ushers its fellow chase-ee in with it, to avoid the few stone statues that have been in pursuit. It can still hear them moving around outside, but they don’t seem to be trying to break the door down, at least.
This is all extremely strange.
“These statues have no internal mechanisms that would allow them any range of movement like this. I saw some of them being made.”
@mvrderbot
Although I would normally say more force is better against outright Hostiles, I don’t think your guns are going to do much here. Perihelion’s hands are on the surface of an image on the wall, trying to prevent a Worldhoppers character from climbing out and attacking. Unfortunately, the picture is stronger, and it’s going to escape very soon.
It really wishes it were itself.
Starter call for Canvas Part 2? Likely short length. Capped at 2, castmates exempt.
