Because the manifest was in the transport’s feed and so available to the other passengers, I asked it to list me for the duration of the voyage in case anybody checked. Like bot-transports that were not ART, it communicated in images and had allowed me onboard in exchange for a copy of my stored media. This was not an ideal situation for me, but it was the only transport going in the right direction. It was also bot-driven, no crew, but it carried passengers, mostly minimum to moderately skilled tech workers, human and augmented human, traveling to and from transit stations on temporary work contracts. (They were bad humans.) I really missed ART. At various points in our relationship, ART had threatened to kill me, watched my favorite shows with me, given me a body configuration change, provided excellent tactical support, talked me into pretending to be an augmented human security consultant, saved my clients’ lives, and had cleaned up after me when I had to murder some humans. ART’s official designation was deep space research vessel. Then there was Asshole Research Transport. It had spoiled me into thinking all bot transports would be like that. For the duration of the trip I had been alone with my media storage, just the way I like it. The first one had let me stow away in exchange for my collection of media files, with no ulterior motives, and had been so focused on its function that there had been hardly more communication between us than you’d have with a hauler bot. I HAVE THE WORST luck with bot-driven transports.
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