“You are sure about this, Captain?”

Elara Velus grunts in annoyed surprise. “Why are you asking me this now? We discussed the plan already, in detail!”

The four-armed robot assistant to Elara, Unit X-7, turns away from her in its copilot seat. Its blue visor seems to dim a little, the white optics inside the visor “blinking” slowly. “I suppose I am replicating what Humans call “nervousness”. Or perhaps “anxiety” would be better.”

Elara’s anger diminishes to a cool simmer. “I don’t blame you. I’m nervous, too, but I know we need to do this before things get worse.” She adjusts her bum against the pilot’s seat, fingers near the flight controls.

“Would this be, as Humans say, “sticking your head in the lion’s mouth”?” X-7 asks without looking at Elara.

Elara snorts, laughing at the thought that an artificial intelligence would be using a human expression. “Where’d you learn to speak like that?” she asks, eager to know the answer. This is new ground between them, and Elara considers them friends; more than friends, in fact, considering what they have gone through!

“I learned it from studying Human literature. But we are getting off track,” X-7 gently reminds her Captain.

“Affirmative.” Elara clears her throat, letting some of the unseen “Unit E-77” slip through. “Now, let’s get to that hypergate. It’s time to nip this “bounty” problem in the bud.”

[“Begin transmission.

“Orion Nexus Station, this is Captain Elara Velus of the Personal-Class starship Wayfarer. I am accompanied by my robotic aide, Unit X-Seven. We are approaching your station now and request an audience for the successful and peaceful resolution of an ongoing bounty unknowingly placed upon us by this station’s Automaton residents. Respond to this message, or hail our ship, as soon as possible, via the transmitting code included in this message.

“Please understand that we are here to seek a diplomatic solution. We are willing to be held under trial for our prior encounters with you, and we can present evidence from a bounty hunter appointed by you who tried and failed to capture Unit X-Seven.

“If you choose to deny our request, we will present our evidence of unlawful assault and use of deadly force to the non-Automaton colonies in this sector. If you show force against us, this will be taken as an act of war by the Automatons against the other inhabitants of the galaxy.

“End transmission.”]

Elara Velus ends her recording, pressed the “SEND” button and casts this message to the familiar pyramid-shaped station approaching her ship in the cockpit’s viewing windows. “Message sent,” she tells X-7, the robot still sitting beside her in the Wayfarer’s main cockpit.

X-7’s visor and optics appear brighter than before they had begun their journey. “I do not anticipate a long wait for their response,” she advises Elara. “More likely, they will have questions when we arrive.”

Elara cannot manage a smile; grimness and a gut feeling tell her this was not going to end well. “I’m hoping they won’t just blow us into atoms.”

“I cannot confirm this,” X-7 states matter-of-factly. “Perhaps they will not realize the full extent of our coming here until they see you. The Automatons believe you are Unit E-77 and no one else.”

Elara lets out a slow breath through her nose. “That is going to cause problems,” she mutters to herself. Her next sentence never comes as beeping noises come from by X-7’s seat.

The robot accesses a message wirelessly, using its four arms to rapidly type through information on her seat’s console. “We have received a docking code, Captain. Clearance to Docking Bay Zeta. It is at the far northern end of the station.”

Elara blinks. “Not the same one, huh?” She does not say anything further before she works to direct the Wayfarer to the appointed place. “Be honest with me,” she asks X-7 upfront as she maneuvers the ship around the bottom point of the station’s pyramidal structure. “Are we going to die here?”

X-7 stops typing with two of its hands; those hands then clasp together in a gesture of human prayer. “I cannot answer that with complete accuracy,” she softly tells Elara. “Logically, then, I am choosing to not give an answer so I do not provide false information.”

“Figures,” Elara states. She gets the ship to its chosen place, moving it inside the docking bay without being distracted by other ships coming and going. Just like the first time, the station appears busy with activity. This time, the Automatons are going to be more interested in them, for good or ill.

“There we go.” Elara stretches her arms in her chair, straining her body and popping some kinks in her spine. X-7 says nothing, leaving itself free to hear Elara’s next question: “They’re going to scan the ship now, aren’t they?”

X-7 nods. “It is a logical choice of action.”

Neither of them speak about what this scanning means. The “Automatons” will know Elara is a human and X-7 is a robot. No tricks or disguises this time. They will know a human and a robot are currently in the same ship. A cardinal sin… unless Elara and X-7 can tell their story. A story they have rehearsed several times on their cruiser starship Nebulae MK III.

As a captain unfamiliar to these machines, Elara plans to be a gruff, credit-seeking member of galactic society looking to satisfy a bounty. X-7 is a reluctant but pacified conquest. They are both perpetrators of a crime against the Automatons. Now, they wish to confess and receive punishment for this crime. Logically, they will survive the punishment and leave relatively intact.

It twists Elara’s heart to put X-7 in this position; E-77 thunders inside Elara’s mind, demanding to not see her “Mistress” be treated as a lesser being. X-7 is a machine like the ones on this station, true, but E-77 owes its existence to this four-armed friend.

Elara shivers. The back-and-forth in her head makes her forehead muscles throb. “Can you…?” She swallows, nerves afire with urges she cannot fulfill. “Can you hug me? Please?”

X-7 gets up, moving smoothly as a well-cared for machine does. She gestures at Elara with one of her four hands, prompting the captain to stand beside her. Elara’s eyes dart to the sides of the cockpit, looking for the scanning software going over her ship. The Automatons will find their body signatures and know what they are. No amount of hiding will help them escape the scanners, not that they want to.

X-7 leans forward, squeezing Elara a bit tightly around her waist. Elara’s nerves get even faster, human emotions overriding the cooling assurance of E-77 in her brain. To keep up the image, Elara forces herself not to cry. The roughened captain of a starship, even a Personal-Class one, is not supposed to show strong emotions amongst strangers. But she cannot stop herself from wrapping her arms around X-7’s waist and trying to hug the robot back. “I don’t want this to go wrong,” Elara whispers to her companion.

“Nor do I.” X-7’s optics “blink” at different times. Elara finally looks at those orbs, holding eye contact even as she feels her own eyes start to water. “Thank you for our time together, Elara.”

Elara says nothing back. After having spent so long in contact with X-7, intimate and otherwise, no words are needed. They soon part, Elara going to get her spacesuit ready for her new role.

The two “Automatons” present at the docking tube have the familiar body design Elara and X-7 remember from their previous encounter: human-like metallic bodies twice as tall as a Human male, sporting two arms with six-fingered hands and elongated heads carrying optical sensors and hidden vocoders. The “guests” hold a hope that Unit A-12, the Automaton who was most suspicious of Elara and X-7’s deception, is not present.

Elara and X-7 emerge, the former now wearing a helmeted space suit different than the one she had on before. This new suit is gray with brown streaks, more modernized and sleeker but still perfectly functional. Her helmet shrouds her face in opaque darkness, even when the closest Automaton moves its optic sensors over the helmet’s surface.

The scanning Automaton wiggles one of its hands’ fingers, signaling the second Automaton to lower its raised taser-weapon. “Captain Elara Velus. Unit X-Seven. Welcome to the Orion Nexus.” This Automaton speaks with a smooth, synthetic voice, less sinister than the lower frequencies of Unit A-12. “I am Unit C-Zero-Nine. I am assigned to your care and your defense in the upcoming trial. Please disembark from the docking tube so we may escort you.”

Behind her helmet, Elara shifts her vocal tone to sound a bit gruffer. “I am not entering the station until I know we will not be harmed, in any way.”

C-09’s tone becomes noticeably pacifying. “This promise cannot be guaranteed. Depending on the decided verdict, your fate may vary significantly.”

“I’m just claiming my bounty. If you don’t want to collect it, we’ll leave.” Elara’s threat is a white lie; they do not want to leave unless they have no other choice. The bounty on X-7’s head will remain unchanged if they leave now.

“Departure is not necessary,” C-09 rushes to insist, seeming to believe Elara’s open threat as a genuine problem. “The Automaton Council insists on hearing the reasoning behind Unit X-Seven’s prior act of deception. You will not be killed or detained unless the sentence is capital punishment.”

Elara takes this in. A group of Automatons, judging them. She cannot resist asking a pointed question: “Is Unit A-Twelve going to be at the trial?”

“That Unit will be present, yes. Their presence is required to…”

C-09 stops speaking mid-sentence, the lines on its body flashing rapidly. The other Automaton stiffens and readies its weapon at Elara and X-7. “Forgive me, Captain Elara Velus,” C-09 then says with a synthetic version of “forced calm”. “You are being ordered by the Automaton Council to remove your helmet before further negotiations can take place. The Council must confirm what Humans call a “gut feeling”.”

Elara’s fingers freeze up. Damn it, this is it! We’re dead!

X-7 mimics a human’s slow intake of breath. “Do it, Captain.” The sign of consent gives Elara a spark of hope. E-77 also whispers in Elara’s mind, a wordless approval of X-7’s words. Elara’s objection is overpowered by her two companions, and by her own hope that this will all work out successfully.

Elara, moving slowly, takes off the helmet. This reveals her natural face – no glazed eyes or robotic movements this time – and the new rebreather around her nose and mouth. The clear device connects to tubes going inside her suit, reaching unseen oxygen canisters in her suit.

C-09 shows no visible signs of surprise as it looks over Elara’s facial features. When it speaks, however, there is an artificial air of curiosity. “Your features resemble those of the Navigational Robot Unit E-Seventy-Seven. The similarity is almost perfect.”

“I am E-Seventy-Seven. I am also Elara Velus.” Elara sighs, knowing her words carry a lot of weight even after this confession. “We’ll explain everything to the Council. I promise.”