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. (All Systems Red, Chapter 1)
So begins Martha Wells’ The Murderbot Diaries, four linked novellas published in 2017/2018 and winner of various and sundry prestigious awards from Hugo and Nebula to Locus. Deserving of every one of them, too. You’ve probably heard some of the hype: “snarky,” “funny,” “humane” are among the more common descriptions. Criticisms tend toward: not enough world-building, almost non-existent plotting, cardboard characters, and expensive to purchase. Online reception is mostly positive with a sullen underbelly of Some People You Just Can’t Please. Typical for the internet, and surprising only in that detractors are relatively few.
One of the things that intrigues me about the reception of The Murderbot Diaries is the degree that reviewers see themselves reflected in the novellas, more so than usual . By that I mean they see themselves in the narrative. The narrator, SecUnit, has been adopted by readers as a metaphor for anyone from transgender to people on the autism spectrum to anyone who has ever felt out of place — which means, really, everyone.
Although SecUnit speaks to our inner misfit, its adventures have particular resonance for people who have been stigmatized. SecUnit’s essential humanity is not recognized at all by its owners or its society. Therefore, the series reads as a coming-out narrative as well as it does as a shoot-’em-up adventure; in fact, the structure of the novel itself (I tend to read The Murderbot Diaries as a novel in four parts) bumps comfortably up against the structures of the space soap operas that SecUnit is addicted to, and our own science fiction plots that have become cliché.
I’m going to do this with minimal spoilers. Just trust me when I assure you that I won’t ruin your reading pleasure.
SecUnit hacked its governor module, thereby giving itself free will. Some time in the past, it was involved in an incident at a mine called Ganaka Pit, where 57 humans were killed (hence SecUnit’s private name for itself: Murderbot). It was reconditioned by its company, its memory purged, and was returned to service as a security operator for lease. It carries the knowledge of 57 murders but doesn’t know how it happened. (All of this you’ll get from the first three paragraphs, so...sorry not sorry.)
Technically, SecUnit is a construct — part robot, part “cloned human material.”
It’s wrong to think of a construct as half bot, half human. It makes it sound like the halves are discrete, like the bot half should want to obey orders and do its job and the human half should want to protect itself and get the hell out of here. As opposed to the reality, which was that I was one whole confused entity. (All Systems Red, Chap. 6)
It’s evident why marginalized people, especially people who feel they have to hide their essential selves in order to find even a degree of acceptance in the world, see their own lives analogized in SecUnit’s experiences.
In the Murderbot world, there are regular humans, augmented humans (humans with some AI interface), constructs (half-human, half-bot), bots, and then there are bot systems that run entire ships. Constructs like SecUnit fill a niche where some human independence and other qualities are desirable (and apparently not programmable) but, being company property (yes, that’s a metaphor), independent judgment is not an valued quality. SecUnit knows that if the company finds out about its hacked governor module, it’ll be, well, killed: stripped down into components and disposed of, which means that it will lose, not only its free will, but thousands of hours of entertainment programming. (Still no spoilers).
The Murderbot Diaries is a variation on a classic quest, as well as a coming-of-age kind of story in a universe where corporations are stronger than governments and civil rights are entirely negotiable. Think the world of the Alien franchise all grown up and spanning solar systems.
Reviewers have likened SecUnit to Marvin and Bender. Both comparisons are off-base; even references to Data miss the mark. Isaac from The Orville edges a bit closer, but better analogies are the hosts from HBO’s Westworld, or the Cylons from the Battlestar Galactica reboot. Because SecUnit is partially-cloned and possesses some human parts, it’s easier for a reader to accept it’s human.
So, I’m awkward with actual humans. It’s not paranoia about my hacked governor module, and it’s not them; it’s me. I know I’m a horrifying murderbot, and they know it, and it makes both of us nervous, which makes me even more nervous. Also, if I’m not in the armor then it’s because I’m wounded and one of my organic parts may fall off and plop on the floor at any moment and no one wants to see that. (All Systems Red, Chap. 1)
You can get the gist of the narrator’s voice. In its opinion, humans + murderbot = awkwardness. It would much rather hide in its armor with its faceplate opaqued and watch soap operas. However, circumstances are not so obliging this time out. SecUnit’s clients are a bunch of scientists who run afoul of a predatory company, and mayhem ensues.
That’s enough plot to get going with.
The point is that we see SecUnit as human; it’s our narrator. And the Preservation Aux scientists see SecUnit as human, in part because they need it to survive and in part because their experience teaches them so. The world at large, however, is a different matter. SecUnits gone rogue (having attained independence) are fodder for horror stories on the entertainment feeds.
He ignored me, but he said to Pin-Lee, “A rogue unit would have left a trail of dead bodies across this station.”
I said, “Maybe I wanted the trail to start here.”
He made eye contact with me, and his pupils widened slightly.
I added, “You people are so naive.” (Exit Strategy, p. 90)
Okay, so SecUnit is not above playing into stereotypes when conditions are right. Its entire continued existence hinges on its ability to pass for a SecUnit with a functioning governor module, which means private thoughts but no independent actions, or its ability to pass as human.
One of The Murderbot Diaries’ pleasures is watching SecUnit subvert its genre’s stereotypes and, often against its better judgement, involve itself in helping people in trouble.
A SecUnit’s job is to protect its clients from anything that wants to kill or hurt them, and to gently discourage them from killing, maiming, etc., each other. The reason why they were trying to kill, maim, etc., each other wasn’t the SecUnit’s problem, it was for the humans’ supervisor to deal with. (Or to willfully ignore until the whole project devolved into a giant clusterfuck and your SecUnit prayed for the sweet relief of a massive accidental explosive decompression, not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.) (Rogue Protocol, pp. 13-14)
Having gained free will, SecUnit finds itself routinely going beyond its job parameters, even as it tells itself it’s doing something it will regret. Sometimes it does regret its actions, at least in the short term, but it’s part of SecUnit’s growth as a character.
What’s a bit more sneaky is the question of what defines humanity. We can accept SecUnit’s essential humanity and trustworthiness because its at least part-human. Then we meet bots who are more human than the humans are, more capable of generosity and the best of human nature. Miki is a bot who
had never been abused or lied to or treated with anything but indulgent kindness. It really thought humans were its friends, because that’s how they treated it.
I signaled Miki I would be withdrawing for one minute. I needed to have an emotion in private. (Rogue Protocol, p. 49)
ART is another example of complex artificial intelligence. While Miki has a humanoid form and therefore we tend to ascribe Miki’s actions to an impluse akin to human nature, ART is a ship, much more powerful than our protagonist, and entirely inhuman. When SecUnit insists they can’t be friends because they’re both subject to human control, ARC observes that there are no humans around, which is admittedly airtight logic that breaks down SecUnit’s resistance. Its sheer power terrifies SecUnit, leading to one of the more critical thematic passages in the series (still no spoilers), when SecUnit feels it’s being threatened and withdraws. ART tells it to stop sulking:
I was afraid, but that made me irritated enough to show it that what it was doing to me was not exactly new. I sent through the feed, SecUnits don’t sulk. That would trigger punishment from the governor module, and attached some brief recordings from my memory of what exactly that felt like.
Seconds added up to a minute, then another, then three more. It doesn’t sound like much to humans, but for a conversation between bots, or excuse me, between a bot/human construct and a bot, it was a long time.
Then it said, I’m sorry I frightened you. (Artificial Condition, pp. 25-26)
It’s worthy to note that ART responds with empathy in the face of new information. It has never seen abuse like SecUnit has experienced. But I really gave you that quotation to set up this one.
So we watched Worldhoppers. It didn’t complain about the lack of realism. After three episodes, it got agitated whenever a minor character was killed. When a major character died in the twentieth episode I had to pause seven minutes while it sat there in the feed doing the bot equivalent of staring at a wall, pretending that it had to run diagnostics. Then four episodes later the character came back to life and it was so relieved we had to watch that episode three times before it would go on.
At the climax of one of the main story lines, the plot suggested the ship might be catastrophically damaged and members of the crew killed or injured, and the transport was afraid to watch it. (That’s obviously not how it phrased it, but yeah, it was afraid to watch it.) I was feeling a lot more charitable toward it by that point so was I willing to let it ease into the episode by watching one to two minutes at a time.
After it was over, it just sat there, not even pretending to do diagnostics. It sat there for a full ten minutes, which is a lot of processing time for a bot that sophisticated. Then it said, Again, please.
So I started the first episode again. (Artificial Condition, pp. 29-30)
Beyond the fact that this is just downright adorable, it shows not only the combination of sophistication and overwhelming processing power in bots, but also a naiveté that reflects an innocence of human nature. SecUnit knows what it knows about humanity more from watching dramas than from actual experience, and ART does the same thing (except that ART is a lot quicker and smarter because of its superior processing power.) SecUnit partakes of human nature because it’s part human; ART partakes of human nature because it learns to, to the point it’s fully capable of both moral action and independent judgement.
This leads to the question: what is human nature? SecUnit, Miki and ART all act independently of human supervision; they operate cooperatively, creatively, and ethically. In fact, one could make the case that the closer to traditional humanity the bot is, the more need humans feel for direct control. Miki and ART don’t have governor modules to hack, and neither knows what physical/psychological torment is like. They like their humans, and they don’t know cruelty.
SecUnits aren’t sentimental about each other. We aren’t friends, the way the characters on the serials are, or the way my humans were. We can’t trust each other, even if we work together. Even if you don’t have clients who decide to entertain themselves by ordering their SecUnits to fight each other. (All Systems Red, chap. 4)
When SecUnit has to fight another SecUnit or a CombatUnit, it knows there’s a sentience in there that is acting under compulsion. Its opponent would, in other circumstances, be our SecUnit itself.
Which leads me to my second of three points, which Wells, to her credit, does not beat us over our collective head with: how cruelly SecUnit has been treated, which gives it enormous trust issues. The humans of the various companies involved in The Murderbot Diaries offer a primer on how evil people can be when they’re granted power, almost as instructively as the dumbshow currently on display in the White House. Equal parts ignorance and indifference add up to a lot of evil. No wonder SecUnit is a misanthrope.
Of the Preservation Aux crew, SecUnit says
The whole group had been remarkably drama-free so far, which I appreciated. The last few contracts had been like being an involuntary bystander in one of the entertainment feed’s multi-partner relationship serials except I’d hated the whole cast. (All Systems Red, chapter 3)
The crisis that befalls Preservation Aux is one that requires mutual trust between the team and SecUnit, and has it for the first time contemplating the possibility of community. Growth. Interdependence. Autonomy. In a world where constructs are property and civil rights depend on who comes up with the biggest bribe.
One of the flaws of The Murderbot Diaries leveled by critics has been the twin offenses of slender world-building and cardboard characters. Both criticisms are spurious. Because the novel is first person, we know only what the protagonist knows, and the protagonist is more interested in The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon than it is in forming lasting bonds with its clients. The reason for that becomes clear over time. As to world-building, you get what you need in SecUnit’s own good time.
The issues of past trauma and abuse are implicit in the narrative; SecUnit has no time to waste indulging in fantasies where bots are loved and constructs are not targets for sadists. The surface plot is the stuff of standard military-style space fare; it’s the subtexts that elevate the series. The question of human nature is one part; the fact that company-humans are remarkable mostly in their cruelty, corruption, and prejudice is part two — it seems as if the bots got the best of human nature and the humans got the worst...until SecUnit meets Preservation Aux.
Part three has to do with SecUnit’s own growth, its coming to terms with its own past and its experiences in confronting its own prejudices, and it has its fair share.
It doesn’t trust any human. Based on its prior experience, a reasonable conclusion, but one that is tested and revised. It learns friendship; it learns compassion. It has no interest in becoming human, but learns how to pass. And more, it grows, and learns to revise its own assumptions.
SecUnit is gender-neutral or, rather, gender-absent. “I don’t have any gender or sex-related parts (if a construct has those you’re a sexbot in a brothel, not a murderbot)” (All Systems Red, chap. 2). It has a low opinion of sexbots, more properly called ComfortUnits, until it learns about the actions of some ComfortUnits in the Ganaka Pit massacre. After that, it never uses the term “sexbot” again. It’s learned that beings it previously disparaged were capable of heroism and empathy; it’s learned respect.
It’s also worth noting that, when given the opportunity, SecUnit chooses not to kill (even when the circumstances justify it). There is only one exception to that trend, and its one that nobody grieves.
The cast of characters is relatively limited, since SecUnit operates in the shadows and tries to limit its contact. But there’s Miki and her human Don Abene, there’s ART, of course, and Tapan, whom SecUnit agrees to protect. Mostly there’s Dr. Mensah and the crew from Preservation Aux, including Gurathin. The evolving relationship between SecUnit and Gurathin is something I hope to see a lot more of — two misfits getting past their mutual suspicion and their own worst impulses.
(”I don’t want to be a pet robot.”
“I don’t think anyone wants that.”
That was Gurathin. I don’t like him. “I don’t like you.”
“I know.”
He sounded like he thought it was funny. “That is not funny.”
“I’m going to mark your cognition level at fifty-five percent.”
“Fuck you.”
“Let’s make that sixty percent.” (Exit Strategy, pp. 153-154)
Wells is working now on a follow-up full-sized novel, which a great many readers anticipate with as much longing as Patrick Rothfuss or George R.R. Martin installments. In the meantime, though, Wells recently published a very short prequel to The Murderbot Diaries in Wired, called, “The Future of Work: Compulsory.” It’s only 1000 words, but it’s a taste of the biggest-hearted artificial life form you’ll have ever read.
Notes
All four installments of The Murderbot Diaries: All Systems Red, Artificial Condition, Rogue Protocol, and Exit Strategy are published by Tor, 2017-2018. You may notice an inconsistency in my notations, for which I apologize. I have All Systems Red on e-reader, but the other three in print versions. However you can get your hands on them, they’re great reading.