A bit more of that omegaverse AU...
Tentatively, I asked, “Why am I lucky?”
«That no one detected your pre-heat pheromones.»
If I'd had any drone inputs at the time, I would have dropped them. “Detected what?!”
«You are a rogue SecUnit,» the transport declared, «a bot/human construct with a scrambled governor module, in the early stages of your heat cycle.»
“I don't have a heat cycle!” I protested, horrified. Heat cycles were one of those awful sex things that happen to humans. I'd had to surveil far too many humans getting periodically sick, all hot and sweaty, and acting like they would die if they didn't have sex soon, to not know what the bot pilot was talking about – but constructs don't have those! Then I realized that in reacting so strongly to just one part of the transport's accusations, I had effectively admitted to the other part. The illegal rogue SecUnit part. Great job, Murderbot, so much for staying under the radar.
«My air scrubbers perform continuous precise chemical analysis as part of their life support functions,» the transport replied haughtily. «I can easily identify when an omega is entering their heat.»
“I'm not a—” I started, but I couldn't even finish the sentence, the word getting tangled up in my throat with my growing revulsion. Omegas are the ones who get desperate and submissive and beg and then everyone gangs up on them— Nope, not thinking about that. Humans are terrible. “SecUnits aren't—” I tried again. “SecUnits don't have genders!” Especially not horrible secondary genders!
No, whatever this bot pilot thought of itself, it had to have gotten this wrong. Or it was lying to try to trip me up and get me to admit I wasn't just some happy servant bot returning to my master. Which I had just done, of course, so its stupid plan had worked. Dammit.
I started to poke at its wall in the feed, wanting to examine these air scrubber processes myself (and maybe see if I could get the transport to forget about me, or at least leave me alone.)
«Do not attempt to hack my systems,» it all but roared, its feed voice hitting me with so much force I actually fell out of my chair. And then for .00001 of a second, it dropped its wall, giving me a clear view of exactly what I was dealing with.
It was definitely the transport’s bot pilot, and it was definitely engineered to be able to assist its humans in scientific research, but both of those facts sounded so simple and inadequate compared to what it really was as to be almost laughable. (Hysterical, panicky laughter, that is. I've never done it, but I've seen humans do it, and this certainly seemed like the type of situation where that reaction would make sense.)
Threat and risk assessment were both going crazy, but somehow my organics were the system metaphorically yelling the loudest. I had two simultaneous and inexplicable impulses from my human neutral tissue in response to the transport's obvious threat display: (1) to curl up into a ball on the floor and protect my midsection, which is honestly less important than my head and only slightly more important than my limbs, and (2) to roll over and tip my head back, showing my belly and throat to anyone who might be looking. Which, really, would only be the transport through whatever hidden cameras or sensors it had in here.
I went with option 1, at least partially. I let my knees draw up to my chest in front of me and huddled into the side of the cushy chair from where I had fallen to the floor, like it would provide any amount of effective cover against an attack. I didn't allow myself to fully curl up and close my eyes, though, no matter what my stupid human tissue was telling me to do. Without any drones, I couldn't afford to give up the few inputs I did have.
“Okay,” I said, and my voice came out all raspy and small. Whatever. I shut down my feed and hunched further into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees as I sat there, sweating, shivering, and absolutely not thinking about any data the air scrubbers might or might not turn up.