“Always assume somebody is after you. Then you won’t be depressed when it happens.”

Emotion check: Yes, I know that sounds paranoid.

We are back with Murderbot in Platform Decay, the eighth book in Martha Wells’ The Murderbot Diaries. The story continues from System Collapse, where Murderbot was struggling with something that had rarely been a problem for it before. Its competence, the one thing I had always assumed it could rely upon, was no longer quite as dependable as it used to be.

In my essay on System Collapse, I had written about how Murderbot’s experiences were beginning to leave marks that couldn’t simply be repaired with a software patch. It was still extraordinarily capable, but being capable was no longer enough to keep everything under control. Platform Decay takes us somewhere slightly different. I think this is the first book in the series where Murderbot feels much closer to being human than bot. And strangely enough, that impression doesn’t come from any grand declaration about feelings or personhood. It comes from what Murderbot chooses to do.

The adventure takes Murderbot and Three to an enormous torus station circling a mined-out planet. Dr. Mensah has sent Murderbot to rescue her spouse Farai, their young daughter Sofi, and Farai’s mother Naja. The three were detained during what should have been routine travel, then mysteriously released. They are now hiding in a safehouse, with no clear explanation of why they were detained in the first place.

And this isn’t just another mission to rescue some humans. Mensah is the most important person in Murderbot’s life. These are her people, her family. And by now, that makes them Murderbot’s family too.

Three accompanies Murderbot on the mission. Both are SecUnits that have escaped the restrictions of their governor modules, although they have rather different ideas about what to do with that freedom. Murderbot has spent several books figuring out how to live without being owned. Three, as we discover later, has been rather more enthusiastic about sharing the experience.

Then there is Supervisor Leonide, Murderbot’s old adversary from Barish-Estranza. She claims credit for getting Mensah’s family released and offers to help them escape. Murderbot, naturally, suspects she may have arranged their detention in the first place.

But Leonide has her own reason for helping. Her children, Janity and Tula, are also in danger. She wants them rescued. And while helping Farai and the others escape, Leonide is killed.

I found that an interesting turn for a character who initially appears to be another corporate complication. Leonide may have her own motives, and Murderbot has every reason to distrust her, but she dies trying to get people, including her own children, to safety.

One thing that struck me about Platform Decay was that I don’t remember Murderbot fighting another SecUnit or combat bot. For a series about a formidable security construct, that is quite a change. There is, however, a particularly interesting encounter with another SecUnit.

Murderbot is monitoring the station’s security feeds when it notices a pattern in the alerts. Something is moving through the crowd far too quickly to be an ordinary human. It turns out to be a rogue SecUnit. The human security guards are preparing to fire, and the SecUnit is moving through a crowd of civilians. Murderbot has seconds to prevent what could become a massacre.

Instead of attacking the SecUnit, Murderbot intervenes through the security feeds, ordering the guards not to engage. Then it contacts the rogue SecUnit directly. What comes back is extraordinary. The SecUnit sends a packet containing Murderbot’s own code for hacking a governor module, the code Murderbot had previously shared with Barish-Estranza SecUnits on the planet.

Apparently, someone has passed it along.

Murderbot realises that its code may be spreading. It began the series as a SecUnit that had secretly hacked its own governor module. Its freedom was something it had achieved for itself and initially wanted to keep to itself. Now other SecUnits are apparently acquiring the same freedom, possibly through code that Murderbot helped distribute.

And Murderbot’s immediate reaction isn’t to contemplate the implications of a growing population of free SecUnits. It helps this particular SecUnit escape. It sends a warning, some useful code, and the practical suggestion that it find different clothes.

I found that rather wonderful. Murderbot may have contributed to something resembling the liberation of other SecUnits, and its immediate concern is making sure this one doesn’t get killed. Another SecUnit doesn’t automatically mean another enemy anymore.

The mystery of how Murderbot’s code is spreading is solved towards the end of the book. Three admits that it has been distributing the governor-module disabling code to every SecUnit it can find.

I found that amusing. Murderbot spent so much time hiding the fact that it had hacked its own governor module, and here is Three, casually distributing the means of freedom to other SecUnits.

Murderbot is not particularly pleased. Neither is ART.

There is another development in Murderbot’s life that I found particularly amusing. Following the events of System Collapse, it has agreed to install a mental-health module that periodically checks its emotional responses. The module doesn’t interfere with its processing or core programming. It simply monitors its organic neural tissue and prompts Murderbot to check its emotional state when the tissue begins producing unusual chemical responses.

Murderbot considers this a rather elementary piece of programming, something it could easily have written itself. But Dr. Bharadwaj has a question.

“Would you have ever coded that yourself?”

Murderbot has to admit that she is right. No, it wouldn’t have.

I loved that exchange. Murderbot is extraordinarily good at recognising threats, processing information and protecting other people. Recognising when it needs help is an entirely different matter. And I find the organic neural tissue particularly interesting. Perhaps its organic components are finally beginning to get the upper hand.

Which brings me to the most interesting decision Murderbot makes in Platform Decay.

By this point, Murderbot has rescued Mensah’s family, along with Leonide’s children, Janity and Tula. They are at a transit station, waiting to board a boat that will take them away. The mission is almost complete.

But Barish-Estranza has sent an armed team after them. And Murderbot realises that these people are prepared to kill ordinary civilians to get what they want. There are families at the station, people waiting for transport, and a tram full of passengers that could become a target.

Murderbot is furious. These people have nothing to do with Barish-Estranza’s conflict. Why should they get caught up in it simply because a corporation thinks it can do whatever it wants?

The emotion check is wonderfully brief.

“Fuck it.”

Murderbot tells Farai and the others to board the boat. Then it turns around and walks back into the station.

And this is what struck me. Murderbot has already rescued the people it came to save. It could leave with them. But now it is putting itself in danger for people it doesn’t even know. It isn’t protecting its clients or its family anymore. It is protecting strangers because what is happening to them is wrong.

That is very Reacher-like thing to do.

I have compared Murderbot to Jack Reacher before. In my essay on All Systems Red, I saw something of Reacher in Murderbot’s extraordinary physical abilities, its independence and its tendency to solve certain problems with overwhelming force. But Platform Decay makes the comparison interesting for another reason.

Reacher has a very inconvenient sense of justice. Once he has seen something wrong, walking away becomes difficult. Murderbot seems to be arriving at a similar place. It hacked its governor module so that it would no longer have to obey orders. But freedom creates an interesting question. Once nobody can tell you what to do, how do you decide what you ought to do?

In Platform Decay, Murderbot gives us an answer through its actions. It can leave, but it chooses to return.

Interestingly, I noticed that Murderbot calls itself Murderbot only once in the entire book. That may not mean anything, but it caught my attention. The name began as a private joke, a rather alarming description of what it believed itself capable of doing. Eight books later, it is still perfectly capable of killing. But that is becoming a smaller part of what defines it for me.

And then there is ART.

I missed ART in this book. ART isn’t there for most of Platform Decay, and I felt its absence. But then, towards the end, there is a moment involving a shuttle. The humans cross a threshold and come under the protection of someone who would crush anyone looking at his wards with malice.

ART.

That was an unexpectedly emotional moment for me. ART doesn’t need to be present throughout the adventure for us to understand what its presence means.

Looking back over the series, I find the progression fascinating. In All Systems Red, Murderbot had gained the freedom to make its own choices. In System Collapse, its extraordinary competence was no protection against emotional vulnerability. And now, in Platform Decay, it has a mental-health module, increasingly troublesome emotions, a growing circle of people it cares about, and a sense of justice that won’t let it walk away.

Which makes me wonder about the title. Maybe the bot platform is decaying and revealing a human. Perhaps its organic tissue really is getting the upper hand.