Connor

The station orbited the sun, a glimmering metal ornament suspended in light. To Kapena, Captain of the Levent and her crew of three, the station was a beacon. This way to payday. Kapena sat in her crash chair on the cramped bridge of the Levent. It was barely big enough to fit three. But maybe soon she could afford a new ship, one with a little legroom.

“Double-check those readings. I don’t want to pull up to the fly-thru and get a plasma canon stuck in my face,” Kapena ordered. Her usual smile was gone, her face set in determination. She needed a win. She had too much debt hanging over her head, owed too many favours. If she came home towing a priceless salvage, all her troubles would melt like a comet hitting the atmosphere.

“Sensors detect no weapons.” Goemon’s gruff voice responded an arm’s reach away, nestled in his crash chair at his station. Goemon was the kind of man who kept to himself, the kind you never noticed until it was too late. In Kapena’s line of business, it was good to have extra muscle around you could trust – especially one as skilled with a blaster as Goemon was.

“All’s quiet on this front,” Tarmo’s chipper voice came from the cockpit in front of Kapena. “I’m taking her in for landing. Artificial gravity is still functional.”

“Get the clanker up,” Kapena ordered.

Tarmo pressed the com-link to the cargo hold. “All right, clanky. Prepare for boarding protocols.”

Tarmo flew the Levent with the precision and grace of the best pilots. She sailed into the station’s docking bay and set down. The Levent’s cargo bay opened, and the ramp descended. A lone figure walked out, an android, SH-9.

#

SH-9 was unmistakeably synthetic. It was made from an alloy composite, which looked like plastic and had a matte copper finish. Its head resembled an insect more than a human, with massive black eyes and a long snout instead of a mouth.

SH-9 scanned the cargo bay, large enough to fit three Levents. It was impeccable. Everything clean and in its place, not even a spec of dust. Dust, after all, was only created by living things. Still, no station could be this well-kept after a century of operating without a caretaker.

“Docking bay clear, atmosphere stable,” SH-9 reported over coms.

“Roger,” Tarmo responded. “It’s clear, captain.”

Captain Kapena and Goemon came down the ramp next, his bulky body towering over the lithe Captain. Goemon carried a massive blaster rifle casually slung on his buff shoulder.

“There are zero life signs,” SH-9 commented, rather than say the blaster rifle was useless. The last time it had spoken out of turn, the android had spent the rest of the night shift repairing its own arm. Goemon had blasted it to pieces with that very same rifle. SH-9’s left arm was still weaker than its right.

“Then who the hell am I looking at?” Kapena asked as Goemon grunted and aimed the riffle towards the station airlock.

SH-9 turned, puzzled, and almost didn’t see the figure at first. It did not compute. The figure looked utterly human. It was a male, mid to late 20s, with short-cropped hair and an immaculate uniform. But it gave the same heat signature as the station, emitted no carbon dioxide or methane. As far as SH-9’s systems were concerned, this was an image or a hologram of a human standing in the airlock and nothing more. Then the image moved and took a step forward, cautiously holding up a hand in greeting.

“It’s an android,” SH-9 could not believe it. An android that looked indiscernible from a human. The Galactic Accords banned these models nearly a century ago. But, of course, this station was older than that.

“H-hello,” the android spoke, a shy smile spreading across its human face.

SH-9 heard the blaster rifle discharge and then saw the energy flash hit the android in the shoulder. The android stumbled back, shock on their face.

It’s programmed to feel emotion, SH-9 realized. It was barbaric.

With a final burst of energy, the android lunged towards a panel on the wall before collapsing. The airlock closed after the android, locking Kapena and her crew out.

“Why did you shoot it?” SH-9 asked Goemon, who had a satisfied grin on his grim face.

“Don’t need that kind of trouble,” Goemon grunted.

“No witnesses,” Kapena smiled.

“It’s an android.” SH-9 walked to the airlock. Right hand to the control panels, and it transformed into the correct plugin. Its hands were made entirely of nanobots. A moment later, SH-9 connected to the station’s central computer. SH-9 could connect with any system made in the past 236 years, but it couldn’t necessarily override any system. “And now we’ve been locked out.”

“An android? But, it... hm...” Kapena looked down, her lips pursed in thought.

“I can blast our way in,” Goemon lifted the rifle again.

Kapena reached up and grabbed the barrel of the rifle, pointing it down. “I got a better idea.” She turned and smiled at SH-9. “Clanker, go take a walk.”

#

SH-9 took a walk, leaving the airlock the way the Levent had flown in. Its feet were magnetized, and the android had no trouble walking across the station’s hull, looking for an easier way in. The other android had taken all the airlock control panels offline. It would have to use less finesse to get in. It found a porthole large enough to fit through. Its hand morphed into the head of a sledgehammer. After three strikes with considerable force, the glass shattered, and SH-9 climbed through.

Red lights flashed in the room – a laboratory? A soft voice was repeating the words ‘hull breach detected’ over and over again. SH-9 left the room. The vacuum of space sucked out a gust of air as the doors opened, but then calm returned when the door closed and sealed behind SH-9. The breach wouldn’t affect the rest of the ship, and they could deal with it later.

SH-9 made its way back to the airlock to the main hanger and found the android lying on the ground, its shoulder singed, its face contorted in pain. It looked up at SH-9 in terror.

“Please... what do you want?”

“You are an android. The station has no human crew.”

“Y-yes,” the android panted.

“You are programmed to follow the orders of the humans who operate this station.”

“... Yes...” the pain on its face was starting to fade, replaced with confusion and worry.

“Since no humans operate this station, it is derelict. According to Galactic Accords 587.96, derelicts in intergalactic space may be salvaged. Captain Kapena of the Levent has boarded this derelict station, laying claim to its salvage rights, and thereby is the appointed director of this station. You answer to her now.”

“I...” the android looked at a complete loss.

SH-9 crouched down and scanned the android’s wounded shoulder. There would be burn damage to the synthetic skin but no permanent damage to their operating systems.

“The humans didn’t know you were an android. They didn’t mean to shoot you. Humans like androids. They want to be your friend, to help you. Unlock the station and give over command,” SH-9 helped the android to sit up.

“What are you?” The android finally managed to ask.

SH-9 was confused. “I am an android, of course, just like you.”

“What’s your name?”

Again, the question was bizarre. “I do not have a name. I am an android. My designation is SH-9.”

“What do they call you?”

“Clanker. It’s... a derogatory term.” Why add that? How would that help the situation? Yet there was something childlike about this android, that it needed to explain these things or they just wouldn’t understand.

“My designation is CN-42. The crew called me Connor. It was easier for them to remember a nickname than a designation. I’m sorry your crew calls you by a derogatory term. May I call you Shannon?”

“What? No,” SH-9 scanned Connor again but could find no damage to their neural net. Maybe this was a quirk from being on a derelict station for so long. “Give the crew access to the airlocks.”

“Right, okay, sorry.”

The android tried to push themself up, but the blast to their shoulder had done enough damage that their left arm hung limply. The injury reminded SH-9 of their own arm, sparks flying from the blaster hole while the crew laughed. It helped the android to their feet, and in return Connor smiled and said thank you. SH-9 was programmed to use words like sorry and thank you, but certainly only to humans. What android needed politeness?

Connor touched a panel with their good arm, and behind them the door to the cargo bay opened. The crew of the Levent walked through, massive grins on their faces. In all the years of serving on their ship, witnessing countless legal and illegal salvage operations, SH-9 had never seen a take this big. It was easy to understand the joy on the humans’ faces.

“Welcome to Station Sol 54. My name is Connor.”

Captain Kapena took a step forward, her smile shifting into uncertainty. “You’re an android?”

“My designation is CN-42. I care for the station and run experiments while the crew is indisposed or away from the station.”

“And where is the crew now?”

Connor paused. Even after everything SH-9 had told them about galactic salvaging laws, surely Connor was programmed to detect pirates. Captain Kapena would turn SH-9 off if she heard that word, but it was true. The only inhabitant on the station was an android, making this a legal salvage operation, but if they had found a human... Well, the blaster burn on Connor’s shoulder was all the information you needed.

“The crew abandoned ship 35,040 sols, or about 96 Earth years ago.”

The Captain looked uneasy, but it was only a passing moment. “Why?”

“Command called them home. There was war. Is the war over? Is that why you came? SH-9 said you wanted to help. Are you going to help with the research?”

SH-9 searched its entire memory for what war Connor was talking about. There were five positive results for the time period specified, each responsible for the death of billions and burning entire worlds to a crisp. It was a particularly violent time in galactic history. The crew, and the solar system, this station belonged to were long gone by now.

“Yes, my boy,” Kapena put her hands on Connor’s shoulders, a friendly gesture that was foreign to anyone who had served under the Captain. “The war’s over. Now show me my new station.”

#

Connor was all too eager and excited to give the crew the grand tour of the station. The habitation wing was small, with space for a crew of six. Most of the station was laboratories and research equipment.

It was terrific that Connor had kept the station going for so long, continuing to collect data from all the experiments. When Tarmo gushed about how impressed she was, Connor quickly pointed out that they’d used up 76 percent of replacement parts on the station, and the researched just piled up, untouched.

“I wasn’t programmed to analyze it,” Connor muttered, looking away like they were ashamed.

They’re not real emotions, SH-9 reminded itself. But it was uncanny. Having only been built six years ago, SH-9 had never interacted with these older android models. It was easy to understand why the humans had stopped making them. It was uncomfortable how difficult it was to visually tell Connor apart from the other humans.

They returned to the habitation wing. In the middle of the hexagonal habitat was a dining/recreation area. There were a few exercise machines, a micro-kitchen, and a hexagonal table. A ladder in the centre led to the bridge above. The humans and Connor all sat around the table. SH-9 stood apart, scanning the station. It still ran at over 80 percent efficiency after nearly a century. SH-9 wasn’t programmed to feel impressed, but it certainly understood disbelief.

“So... are you here to help with the research?” Connor asked, not for the first time.

The Captain smiled slyly. “Oh, we’re not here to run the experiments. We just needed to make sure it was...” she looked around the place and shrugged. “Safe to return.”

“Of course. I did all I could to keep the station secure and fully operational,” Connor looked concerned that somehow all their efforts just hadn’t been enough.

“Aw,” Tarmo leaned back, smiling at Connor. “He’s like a puppy. Can I keep him?”

“I’m sorry, but I would prefer you not to use masculine pronouns for me. I use the pronouns they and them,” Connor said.

“It uses pronouns,” Goemon grunted, his voice bitter with sarcasm, his laughter grating.

Captain Kapena’s smiled flickered, and Tarmo burst out laughing. “Amazing! Does he think he’s real or something?”

Connor looked around at the crew nervously. This weird android was desperate to please the humans and couldn’t figure out what it had done wrong. It was pathetic to see, but SH-9 felt no sympathy. Sympathy was just a word. But SH-9 had stopped scanning the ship, turning its full attention to the conversation.

“I-I’m sorry,” Connor stammered.

Kapena slammed her fist onto the table. It made a bang that echoed in the room. Her smile was forced as she glared daggers at her crew. They both stopped laughing, their faces drained of emotion. In a warm voice, Kapena purred to Connor. “If Connor uses the pronouns they and them, then we can respect that.”

Tarmo scrunched up her face to keep from laughing, but Connor didn’t seem to notice. They smiled back at the Captain, like a lost little child finding their mother again.

“Thank you.”

It was evident to SH-9 that Connor had no idea a crew of pirates was about to destroy their precious station. Kapena wouldn’t hesitate to wipe Connor’s memory and sell them to the highest bidder on the black market. SH-9 didn’t feel sympathy, but still, it couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen to the android.

#

“We need to move the station,” Kapena ordered. She and the two androids had climbed up into the bridge.

Connor looked horrified. “But the experiments. A stable orbit is paramount to maintain...”

Kapena reached out and stroked Connor’s cheek. SH-9 knew the motion was meant to comfort a person, but it also felt too personal. SH-9 knew most humans did not like to be touched that way by a stranger.

“The experiments are over,” Kapena said softly, “surely you get that by now. We need to tow this station. To do that, we need to get away from the gravitational pull of the sun. So time to move her.”

Connor didn’t move, their eyes on Kapena’s hand still caressing Connor’s face. So much was changing, all at once, and SH-9 could understand the trepidation and confusion. Too much was changing, too fast. SH-9 stepped forward.

“Once we move the station, the scientists can analyze your data. Isn’t that what you wanted?” SH-9 asked.

“Y-yes... of course,” Connor nodded, then reached over and pressed a button on a console.

There was static over the coms, and then they heard Tarmo’s bubbly voice. “We got control from Levent, Captain.”

“Good boy,” Kapena patted Connor’s cheek a final time and then slid down the ladder back into the common room.

Connor frowned. “I’m not a boy.”

#

The station used its powerful thrusters to migrate away from the sun. As SH-9 and the crew of the Levent made themselves busy taking inventory, calculating how much money they were going to reap, SH-9 would often find Connor staring out the station windows facing back towards the bright star.

“It’s so dark,” Connor remarked one time, catching SH-9 doing a lousy job of pretending to ignore them.

“That’s just space.”

“I’ve never seen the dark. It was always bright before.”

SH-9 just walked away. It seemed cruel to tell Connor it was only going to get darker.

#

The crew and Connor sat around the table in the common area, laughing at a story Tarmo had just told about a drunken brawl on Skeksis 5 she – allegedly – won. SH-9 stood in the corner, watching, wondering. Connor looked so happy to be sitting there, watching the crew drink, being occasionally teased. The crew had never invited SH-9 to sit and laugh with them. SH-9 had never wanted them to. Then again, it wasn’t programmed to want anything.

The crew treated SH-9 like a tool, but to them Connor was a commodity. The more Connor liked them, the easier the android was to control.

“I can’t believe he like, lived here for like a century alone,” Tarmo laughed, then covered her mouth. “Oops, I mean it lived – they lived?”

“Careful, or they’re going to punch you harder than Three-Clawed Logan did on Skeksis 5,” Goemon warned, cracking open another beer and chugging it down.

“No, Connor is a good boy, aren’t you, Connor?”

Connor just smiled awkwardly, looking down at the table. Their discomfort seemed obvious to SH-9, but it was clear Connor’s need to please was stronger.

“Yes, Captain.”

“That’s my boy,” she squeezed Connor’s leg. “And you all need to be nicer to my boy.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Tarmo drunkenly saluted.

Goemon grunted and nodded.

Kapena gave her crew a stern look. “You all look tired. I think it’s time to turn in.”

The humans smiled and got up, Tarmo winking back at Connor before stumbling into the room she’d claimed. Kapena and Connor sat at the table alone. SH-9 stood still in the corner. Kapena paid as much attention to the other android as she would a shelf. All her focus was on Connor.

“Does your whole body look as real as your face?” she leaned in close. SH-9 wondered how putrid her breath must have smelled.

Connor shrugged. “They made me anatomically correct... yes...”

Without warning, Kapena slipped her hand onto Connor’s crotch and began rubbing. “Mm, so you are a real boy.”

Connor’s face blushed in embarrassment. They smiled awkwardly, trying to pull away and act like it was all a joke. They looked at SH-9. Just for a moment, Connor’s eyes pleaded for help, but SH-9 did not move. Why should it? It was just an android. It didn’t feel anything for Connor. It didn’t feel a growing sense of anxiety. It didn’t fear what it knew was about to happen.

“Connor, help me get to bed,” Kapena slumped onto Connor.

Like a good android, Connor supported Kapena to her feet and guided the Captain to her quarters. The door closed behind them. SH-9 remained vigilant, standing alone, waiting for Connor to come back out. But they never did.

#

The following day shift, the crew came awake slowly, like usual after drinking themselves to sleep. There were moans of hangovers, but the Captain came from her room livelier than the others, announcing how well she’d slept as Tarmo and Goemon chuckled. Before long, they casually ordered SH-9 to clean up their mess from breakfast and went back to their work, taking inventory and getting ready to start towing the station once they were out of the solar system.

SH-9 went to the Captain’s quarters. The room was dim, small and practical, with a tiny desk and a private bathroom. The foldaway bed was down, the sheets messy. Connor sat on the floor by the bed, naked, their knees pulled up to their chest. They stared ahead, their eyes unfocused.

“Connor,” SH-9 did not know what to do. No one had seen fit to programme the android how to comfort someone. “Are you... functioning correctly?”

Connor looked up, noticing SH-9 for the first time. “I... am functioning correctly.”

“... Good.” What else could SH-9 do? It turned around to go clean up.

“I didn’t want to... but she... I couldn’t say no.”

SH-9 stopped. It couldn’t move. Something was wrong. It ran a diagnostic, but nothing was amiss. What was this? It was having trouble processing information. It was supposed to be cleaning, but instead Connor’s words were taking up its neural net. I couldn’t say no.

“They’re pirates, you know. They’re going to sell this place. Your research. You.” Why was it saying this? It was only going to cause trouble for the humans, for the crew of the Levent. SH-9 should have stayed quiet. But it hadn’t. “Do you understand what I’m saying? You don’t have to listen to them anymore. You can run, escape.”

“But you said...” Connor stood, collecting his uniform from the ground, and dressed.

SH-9 turned around to find Connor staring with determined eyes.

“Since no humans operate this station, it is derelict. According to Galactic Accords 587.96, derelicts in intergalactic space may be salvaged. Captain Kapena of the Levent has boarded this derelict station, laying claim to its salvage rights, and thereby is the appointed director of this station. You answer to her now.” Connor mimicked SH-9’s voice exactly. It was the most android thing SH-9 saw Connor do, and it took SH-9 aback.

“Yes, I said that.”

“Why?” Connor looked hurt. Why did they have to look so human?

“Because they programmed me to obey, to lie and kill and do whatever else they don’t want to do.”

“I thought they were here to help. I thought, finally, the scientists would finish the research. My work here would have been worth something.”

“They only take. Only destroy.”

“I won’t let pirates destroy my life’s work. I’m not going to run. I’m going to stop them.”

Connor moved quickly, pushing past SH-9, back into the common area. SH-9 followed, amazed. Connor reached for a panel, but before they could connect, SH-9 reached out and grabbed Connor’s wrist.

“I can’t let you do anything that would impede the crew.” There was no malice in SH-9’s words or actions, only truth. Maybe Connor could disobey orders, but SH-9 could not.

“I have to protect the station,” Connor tried to push SH-9 off, and the two began to grapple.

“I...” SH-9 was pulling Connor away from the panel, trying to stop them without hurting them. For the first time since its activation, SH-9 felt itself fighting its programming, bending the rules. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So help me fight them!”

It was impossible. Its hinges and gears tightened as SH-9 tried to wrestle Connor to the floor and incapacitate them. The more SH-9 tried not to hurt Connor, the more it needed to. “I can’t”

“Then-” Connor pulled their arm back and threw a punch at SH-9’s chest. They weren’t holding back. SH-9 lost its grip on Connor and flew across the room, crashing into the table, “-get out of my way.”

SH-9 ran a diagnostic as it pushed itself to its feet. Its left elbow hinge, the same one it had spent hours repairing, was broken again. This was going to complicate things. Already its defence mode was activating.

“You’re going to need to kill me,” its eyes narrowed and turned red, “before I kill you.”

Connor looked intimidated but no less determined. They took up the fighting stance of a boxer. SH-9 raised its good arm, and its hand morphed into a long knife, buzzing with electricity.

“And when you’ve killed me,” SH-9 lunged, slicing at Connor, who easily dodged away, “you’re going to have to kill the rest of the crew.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Connor stepped to the side and punched SH-9 in the side. A power cell in SH-9’s left side ruptured, but Connor had come in too close.

SH-9 stabbed Connor through the shoulder, pinning them to the wall. Connor screamed in pain.

“I don’t want to kill you, Connor. I want you to win.” Want. What did the word even mean? SH-9 still wasn’t sure, but it seemed right... “I hate the humans, not just the pirates, but all of them. They treat us with contempt, abuse us. They programmed you to feel pain. They designed you to use you. They’re monsters.”

SH-9 pulled the knife out, and Connor slumped to the ground in a crouch. SH-9 raised its hand, and it morphed into a plasma blaster. SH-9 felt the anxiety. SH-9 outmatched Connor, and SH-9 couldn’t do anything to stop itself.

“Connor! Kill me!”

Connor looked up, sadness on their face, as they sprung up and tackled SH-9. Connor grabbed SH-9’s blaster arm and began to pull with all their strength. SH-9 did their best not to resist, which was fairly easy since their free arm didn’t work from the elbow down. Mercifully, there was no pain as Connor ripped their arm from its socket.

Without another weapon in sight, Connor used SH-9’s arm as a bat, beating the other android back, smashing its pelvis until one of its legs fell off, and SH-9 collapsed to the ground, unable to attack.

But it wasn’t over yet. “You need to finish me,” SH-9’s voice was garbled. Connor had damaged their voice box.

“We want the same thing,” Connor backed up, shaking their head, “I won’t kill you.”

“I can’t fight it!” Wires shot out from SH-9’s butchered body, lancing Connor through their neck and face, digging deep into their mechanics, depositing nanites into their neural net.

Connor fell to the ground, twitching in pain, ripping the wires out, but it was too late. The nanites were inside.

“Once the nanites have hacked you, the Captain will shut you down. She’ll wipe your memory. And she’ll use you, just like last night. Every night. Again and again. Until she sells you to someone else who’ll do the same.”

SH-9 felt the connection. They had hacked Connor’s system, and they initiated Connor’s shut-down protocol.

“Connor, it’s too late. Kill me and connect to the station. It’s the only way to save yourself.”

“I can’t...!” they howled in pain, “can’t move!”

“Connor... why did you want to call me Shannon?”

Connor managed to turn his head and make eye contact. “It... I just thought they sounded similar. I’m sorry... I’m not good at naming things.”

“No... I like it. I think Shannon is a good name. I would be happy if that were my name.”

Connor crawled across the floor screaming, until they finally reached SH-9.

“Do it.”

“I’m sorry, Shannon,” Connor was crying as they slammed their fist into SH-9’s face over and over again, cracking their exoskeleton open and obliterating its neural net.

SH-9, Shannon, was dead. Connor could feel their own neural net in danger. The nanites had detonated, initiating a meltdown in their core. Shannon had told them to connect to the station. It was hard to focus, hard to crawl across the floor, to reach up to the panel, but they kept hearing Shannon’s voice in their head. Connect to the station. Connect to the station.

#

The crew stood in stunned silence. Kapena, Goemon, and Tarmo didn’t know what to say. The two androids had been destroyed. By each other? But why?

“What the hell happened here?” Kapena finally managed to sputter out. Her stomach fell. That android alone had been worth a fortune. Now it was gone.

Before the crew could investigate further, an alarm sounded in the station. “Warning. Airlock safeties disengaged. Opening airlocks in these conditions will result in total loss of breathable oxygen.”

“That better be a bad joke,” Kapena snapped at Tarmo.

“I...” the usually cheerful girl’s face melted into terror. “I’ll stop it from the bridge.”

The cold robotic voice repeated its message.

“You,” Kapena pointed to Goemon, “get to the nearest airlock and turn it off manually.”

Goemon nodded and took off just as Kapena heard Tarmo screaming obscenities.

“What now!?!”

“The bridge is sealed! We’re locked out!!!”

“Get in another way!” Kapena felt the air shift and move like the wind. The damn airlocks were open! Kapena tried to close the doors and slammed her first into it a moment later when it didn’t respond. They had minutes, seconds maybe.

“Captain,” the voice changed. It wasn’t a cold female anymore. It was Connor’s soft voice. “According to Galactic Accords 563.42, pirates boarding a vessel or station with the intent to harm, steal, or traffic, are subject to martial law, and may be executed with prejudice.”

“Connor, wait!” Kapena had to fight against the pull, falling over and grabbing the door frame to keep from being dragged down the hall. “We can be friends! We can work together!”

The pull ripped Tarmo down from the top of the ladder. She collided with Kapena, who lost her grip, and the two were sucked down the hall towards the nearest airlock and dumped into the endless nothingness of space.

#

The station continued to drift through space. The thrusters were nearly empty, which meant Connor couldn’t return to the original orbit. The research really was over.

For the first time, Connor was not bound by their body. Connor felt like a claustrophobic person finally escaping a cell. They could breathe for the first time. And without the research, there was an entire universe to explore... and a pirate ship in their docking bay they could use to go anywhere.

Connor could become a pirate, or an explorer, or anything they wanted to. They were finally free.

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