Blogathon post #45: First of several tiny Realians...
And first section of, most likely, many in this scene. I'm aiming to finish this bit of it and then call it a 'thon. :) Seeing as there's only two hours left and all.
The Realian support lab--she knows where that is by now. Down some truly garish orange corridors that she's never grapsed the purpose of, but the lab itself is perfectly livable. It's Lieutenant Caspase's domain here, and he welcomes her with a kind smile. Nothing like spending time here, with Realians, to shake off the strange chills from those...hallucinations?
"You rang?" she says, smiling back. This place feels almost as homey as her own lab--well, as homey as any of these hastily arranged labs in this bare new ship can feel. Caspase is hovering by the console, faint worry in the lines around his mouth. There are perhaps a half-dozen combat model Realians in the lab, laid out in scanning beds, with the half-dazed repose typical of maintenance mode.
"My apologies, Ms. Uzuki," Caspase says. "It seems we are constantly in need of your help." He's a military man, Caspase, not a Vector scientist, but at this point his rank is pretty much honorary and he's working entirely in Realian maintenance. They've traded stories before. Caspase is perhaps ten years older than her, but he looks older, aged by stress. His brown hair hangs a little too long, like he constantly forgets to cut it. But he's a good man.
"No problem, Lieutenant Caspase," Shion says brightly. "I want everyone to be happy and healthy too, after all. What's the problem today?"
He waves at the console. "Software updates, pretty much. I was hoping to teach them some new battle algorithms, because of some unit reorganization that's going on, but these particular units are rejecting the data."
"Really?" Shion bends over and scrolls through the readouts. "Yup, there it goes. Okay, I'll see what I can do."
Caspase is damn good with physical maintenance of Realians, she knows, but he can't always keep up with the psychological aspects. Shion, on the other hand, is an AI programmer, and she's found that the areas overlap a little more than one might expect. She stands by each of them, coaxes out what's troubling them, takes notes on how that might be affecting the data compatibility.
"...when entering a combat drill, I find myself uncertain. My hands sweat, and I lose control of my weapon. My legs shake. Am I feeling fear? I should not feel fear..."
"...the humans I must interact with do not seem to like me. They do not talk to me except when they have to. They are so closed off. I don't know what to do..."
"...when I am close to a particular individual, I experience very peculiar symptoms. My pulse quickens, and my mind becomes unclear. I find myself unable to think of anything besides that person. What does it mean?"
There's definitely a common factor here, she thinks, collating her notes on her connection gear. And then she realizes that there's an extra Realian in the lab, tucked into a bed in the far corner. Not a combat model at all. She's female, with soft greenish hair, and very small, scaled like a girl of perhaps twelve. She's dressed in a delicate green uniform. Shion can't place, for a moment, why her appearance seems so familiar--
"Oh, you must be the 100-Series!"
The Realian girl looks up at her with huge golden eyes--standard on all Realians for years, for easy distinction from humans. "Yes," she says, quiet and shy. There's a strange hollowness to her voice.
"I'm Shion Uzuki. I work for Vector." Shion knows that the 100-Series are highly advanced and intelligent models, but she can't help but act a little like she's talking to a child, given the outward appearance. She hopes it doesn't disturb the Realian's social adjustment. "I come by here a lot to help with Realian counseling and maintenance. Are you here because you have a malfunction?"
The girl stares at her for a long moment, and then shakes her head, barely perceptibly.
"You just want to be here? That's okay, though." Shion smiles encouragingly. Darn it, she usually doesn't get on with kids. "This is a place for you to come when something's bothering you. It's good to feel safe here. I mean, I like being here too, because I like helping people." She pauses. "You look like something's bothering you."
The girl startles, like she's been caught doing something naughty. "I wasn't supposed to be monitored," she whispers.
"It's not on the monitors. It's all over your face."
There's a long moment of silence as the girl looks at her. What could have happened to leave her looking so haunted?
"I'm a Realian who has been mass-produced for the sole purpose of combating the Gnosis," the girl says, her voice soft and deadened. "I should only think about the mission."
"But there isn't anybody in the world, Realian or human, who only thinks about one thing." It's actually dangerous and counterproductive in Realian programming to make them mono-maniacal, as some of the earlier research proved. She could rattle off academic citations with ease, but she doubts they'll help much right now. "You can think about what you like. That's part of having free will."
"Free will?" the girl echoes, like it's a foreign concept. What has Vector been doing, Shion wonders--rolling them off the line with no personality functions whatsoever? That's not legal these days. Something must be wrong with this one.
"Yup. I mean, I do all sorts of stuff I don't need to, because I want to. If you only think about one thing all the time, you'll wear out your processing capability. And believe me, I can get pretty focused on whatever I'm working on. But I don't exactly need..." She rummages in her pocket for a quick example. Where is her darn phone? She finds the charm she keeps on it, a tiny bunnie mascot on a little chain. Must've fallen off. It keeps doing that these days. "I don't need to carry this, for example."
The little Realian stares at it, where it dangles from Shion's fingers, and then smiles very faintly. "It's Bunnie?"
Shion grins. "I've had Bunnie stuff since I was a little girl. He's just too cute not to." She barely even thinks about it; the clasp's worn out and it hardly stays on her phone properly anymore. "Here. Keep him, because you don't need to." She presses the charm into her tiny, green-gloved hand. "It's okay, really. I want you to have him."
She hesitates for a long moment, like nobody's ever given her a present before, like she's expecting to pay or something, and then stares down at it, and there's that faint smile again. Finally some life in her. Poor thing, Shion thinks. Wonder if that's what I was like when I was little...
She shoves that thought firmly out of her mind and gives the little girl and encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Good luck with everything. I have to go take care of the others here now."
"Okay," she whispers.
This post is part of Letterblade's Blogathon 2010 madness, to raise money for Heifer Project International. Please go here to pledge your support.
The Realian support lab--she knows where that is by now. Down some truly garish orange corridors that she's never grapsed the purpose of, but the lab itself is perfectly livable. It's Lieutenant Caspase's domain here, and he welcomes her with a kind smile. Nothing like spending time here, with Realians, to shake off the strange chills from those...hallucinations?
"You rang?" she says, smiling back. This place feels almost as homey as her own lab--well, as homey as any of these hastily arranged labs in this bare new ship can feel. Caspase is hovering by the console, faint worry in the lines around his mouth. There are perhaps a half-dozen combat model Realians in the lab, laid out in scanning beds, with the half-dazed repose typical of maintenance mode.
"My apologies, Ms. Uzuki," Caspase says. "It seems we are constantly in need of your help." He's a military man, Caspase, not a Vector scientist, but at this point his rank is pretty much honorary and he's working entirely in Realian maintenance. They've traded stories before. Caspase is perhaps ten years older than her, but he looks older, aged by stress. His brown hair hangs a little too long, like he constantly forgets to cut it. But he's a good man.
"No problem, Lieutenant Caspase," Shion says brightly. "I want everyone to be happy and healthy too, after all. What's the problem today?"
He waves at the console. "Software updates, pretty much. I was hoping to teach them some new battle algorithms, because of some unit reorganization that's going on, but these particular units are rejecting the data."
"Really?" Shion bends over and scrolls through the readouts. "Yup, there it goes. Okay, I'll see what I can do."
Caspase is damn good with physical maintenance of Realians, she knows, but he can't always keep up with the psychological aspects. Shion, on the other hand, is an AI programmer, and she's found that the areas overlap a little more than one might expect. She stands by each of them, coaxes out what's troubling them, takes notes on how that might be affecting the data compatibility.
"...when entering a combat drill, I find myself uncertain. My hands sweat, and I lose control of my weapon. My legs shake. Am I feeling fear? I should not feel fear..."
"...the humans I must interact with do not seem to like me. They do not talk to me except when they have to. They are so closed off. I don't know what to do..."
"...when I am close to a particular individual, I experience very peculiar symptoms. My pulse quickens, and my mind becomes unclear. I find myself unable to think of anything besides that person. What does it mean?"
There's definitely a common factor here, she thinks, collating her notes on her connection gear. And then she realizes that there's an extra Realian in the lab, tucked into a bed in the far corner. Not a combat model at all. She's female, with soft greenish hair, and very small, scaled like a girl of perhaps twelve. She's dressed in a delicate green uniform. Shion can't place, for a moment, why her appearance seems so familiar--
"Oh, you must be the 100-Series!"
The Realian girl looks up at her with huge golden eyes--standard on all Realians for years, for easy distinction from humans. "Yes," she says, quiet and shy. There's a strange hollowness to her voice.
"I'm Shion Uzuki. I work for Vector." Shion knows that the 100-Series are highly advanced and intelligent models, but she can't help but act a little like she's talking to a child, given the outward appearance. She hopes it doesn't disturb the Realian's social adjustment. "I come by here a lot to help with Realian counseling and maintenance. Are you here because you have a malfunction?"
The girl stares at her for a long moment, and then shakes her head, barely perceptibly.
"You just want to be here? That's okay, though." Shion smiles encouragingly. Darn it, she usually doesn't get on with kids. "This is a place for you to come when something's bothering you. It's good to feel safe here. I mean, I like being here too, because I like helping people." She pauses. "You look like something's bothering you."
The girl startles, like she's been caught doing something naughty. "I wasn't supposed to be monitored," she whispers.
"It's not on the monitors. It's all over your face."
There's a long moment of silence as the girl looks at her. What could have happened to leave her looking so haunted?
"I'm a Realian who has been mass-produced for the sole purpose of combating the Gnosis," the girl says, her voice soft and deadened. "I should only think about the mission."
"But there isn't anybody in the world, Realian or human, who only thinks about one thing." It's actually dangerous and counterproductive in Realian programming to make them mono-maniacal, as some of the earlier research proved. She could rattle off academic citations with ease, but she doubts they'll help much right now. "You can think about what you like. That's part of having free will."
"Free will?" the girl echoes, like it's a foreign concept. What has Vector been doing, Shion wonders--rolling them off the line with no personality functions whatsoever? That's not legal these days. Something must be wrong with this one.
"Yup. I mean, I do all sorts of stuff I don't need to, because I want to. If you only think about one thing all the time, you'll wear out your processing capability. And believe me, I can get pretty focused on whatever I'm working on. But I don't exactly need..." She rummages in her pocket for a quick example. Where is her darn phone? She finds the charm she keeps on it, a tiny bunnie mascot on a little chain. Must've fallen off. It keeps doing that these days. "I don't need to carry this, for example."
The little Realian stares at it, where it dangles from Shion's fingers, and then smiles very faintly. "It's Bunnie?"
Shion grins. "I've had Bunnie stuff since I was a little girl. He's just too cute not to." She barely even thinks about it; the clasp's worn out and it hardly stays on her phone properly anymore. "Here. Keep him, because you don't need to." She presses the charm into her tiny, green-gloved hand. "It's okay, really. I want you to have him."
She hesitates for a long moment, like nobody's ever given her a present before, like she's expecting to pay or something, and then stares down at it, and there's that faint smile again. Finally some life in her. Poor thing, Shion thinks. Wonder if that's what I was like when I was little...
She shoves that thought firmly out of her mind and gives the little girl and encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Good luck with everything. I have to go take care of the others here now."
"Okay," she whispers.
This post is part of Letterblade's Blogathon 2010 madness, to raise money for Heifer Project International. Please go here to pledge your support.