All Systems Red (The Murderbot Diaries, #1)

by Martha Wells

I COULD HAVE BECOME a mass murderer after I hacked my governor module, but then I realized I could access the combined feed of entertainment channels carried on the company satellites. It had been well over 35,000 hours or so since then, with still not much murdering, but probably, I don’t know, a little under 35,000 hours of movies, serials, books, plays, and music consumed. As a heartless killing machine, I was a terrible failure.

The hostile that had just exploded up out of the ground had a really big mouth, so I felt I needed a really big gun.

I yelled, “No!” which I’m not supposed to do; I’m always supposed to speak respectfully to the clients, even when they’re about to accidentally commit suicide.

I don’t know why, because it’s one of those things I’m not contractually obligated to care about.

Like an idiot, I said, “Uh, yes?”

That sounded like a great plan, in that it didn’t involve me.

I said, “I need to check the perimeter,” and managed to turn and leave the crew area in a totally normal way and not like I was fleeing from a bunch of giant hostiles.

Also, you may have noticed, I don’t care.

Yes, talk to Murderbot about its feelings. The idea was so painful I dropped to 97 percent efficiency.

you may have noticed that when I do manage to care, I’m a pessimist.

On the entertainment feed, this is what they call an “oh shit” moment.

I tried to decide whether to believe it or not, or whether it mattered, when I was hit by a wave of I don’t care.

I love you, armor, and I’m never leaving you again.

Granted, I liked the imaginary people on the entertainment feed way more than I liked real ones, but you can’t have one without the other.

It took a tremendous effort for me not to rip his arm off, and I’d like that noted for the record, please.