Fic: Good Intentions [PG]
The following is set in Sanjuno’s Nine Rings of Vos: Opression
(In which there are Good Intentions.)
The new Care Inspection Officer for the AutoCare Sequestrāre for the Offspring of Unsound Military Models (or “Asoumm,” a non-profit institution funded by associates of the Iacon Science Academy) watched though sound-proofed mirror glass as a dour, but brightly-painted older femme put aside an exotic-looking sparkling from her lap to get to her feet and deliver a severe (if unheard by the inspector) admonishment to a larger youngling for some unknown misdeed. The youngling glared back, smacking his writing station in youthful outrage before apparently complying and seating himself at the small table, occasionally throwing the femme venomous glances. The inspecting officer turned his attention back to the guide who was conducting his tour of his new place of work.
“The survey team discovered a minor crèche in the foothills around Vos, and sent out a retrieval team. These two ‘Seekerlings’ are all that could be recovered when the structure collapsed.” The guide indicated the one-way window where the youngling was staring back at the femme with wide optics, before reverting to his previous glare. “She’s one of our house-carers, if you were wondering. Not quite an imprintee, but sadly, that wouldn’t be practical in this case. You can see there that the older of the two has already attained some of the aggressive traits that make his kind ungovernable. Regrettably, the youngling may be already beyond the age where this facility can do him any benefit.”
The guide led the Inspector on to the next part of the tour.
* * *
The mechling ‘hummed’ a half remembered ‘tune,’ small red optics staring in to the darkness of rest cycle. It wasn’t one of the songs from the once-a-cycle seminars, and indeed sounded distinctly different. He couldn’t remember the entire progression, or indeed where he had learnt it from, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the house-carer wouldn’t be any more impressed to hear it than she would be to find him back online at this point of the cycle.
The thought was enough to convince the mechling to shutter his optics, and run the ‘song’ through his processor without vocalising. In spite of him recognising it as a ‘song,’ vocals didn’t really seem to be as important as the motions that went with it- what looked like the irregular shuddering and twitching of the sensory panels - wings - on his back, that he figured he could pass off as the clearing of old sensory data from his memory banks, during recharge.
He relished the memory of an old feeling that came with it; a sense of rightness, of innumerable others alike to him, and of unquestioned belonging-
Memory Error - Bad Sector Detected
-and then it was gone, and he was alone with the flashing message on his HUD.
Last cycle, he knew he had been able to recall more of the song than he had tonight, and held on to the feeling for longer. He had understood the song, up to a point then. He ran the intact section of the memory through his processor again, wings flicking slightly with the partially understood cant.
~First comes the family...~
* * *
“You misunderstand, Inspector. The memory devices on trial are significantly less likely to cause permanent trauma to the memory core than those of other facilities. Because of the age of the subjects’-”
“And just how old are the younglings?”
“Averaging on about one-eighth of a vorn - so far as can be determined. You understand that Vos doesn’t send the senate an exhaustive record of creations and deaths.”
“I see.” The cynical side of the inspector’s thoughts pointed out that yes, that was understandable. “That seems a bit young to be messing with their memory cores.”
The guide responded with a polite, but nevertheless slightly condescending titter. “Even at this age, those ‘younglings’ - as they appear - have been ingrained with such aggressive tendencies that they will never fully integrate with civilized society without critical intervention. No, I’m afraid you’ve got it entirely the wrong way around, sir; it is precisely because they are so young that this treatment is even feasible. This, my dear inspector, is their best chance for a better life, and perhaps their only chance for a good one.”
The inspector said nothing, but motioned for his guide to elaborate.
“It was rather unexpected actually, but a Towers representative visited the facility just cycles ago to express an interest amongst his peers to take in some of the Seekers, should the project go smoothly. They offer a privileged, nigh opulent, life that is attained by few Autobots, never to even mention their own kind.
“But most of all, do you not think it unkind to allow them to be plagued for life with memories of their dysfunctional, negligent brood?”
There was little that the inspector could say in reply to that. It was common knowledge that the military builds lacked the faculties to provide adequate care for their offspring, even if they were not intentionally negligent, and that their violent nature led to outright abuse, as often as not.
Otherwise, why would these facilities exist?
A/N: Thanks to Gaz, Fizz for their help, and Mack for betaing.
Season's greetings, Sajuno. If you like this I may write more.
N/B: This is the first fic I've written in years, the second fic I've written since I knew what "fanfiction" was, and the third fanfic written in my life, so be nice, and criticize it's grammar/spelling/flow/ability to mesh with the continuity I wrote it for/et cetera.
(Word Count: 870)
(In which there are Good Intentions.)
The new Care Inspection Officer for the AutoCare Sequestrāre for the Offspring of Unsound Military Models (or “Asoumm,” a non-profit institution funded by associates of the Iacon Science Academy) watched though sound-proofed mirror glass as a dour, but brightly-painted older femme put aside an exotic-looking sparkling from her lap to get to her feet and deliver a severe (if unheard by the inspector) admonishment to a larger youngling for some unknown misdeed. The youngling glared back, smacking his writing station in youthful outrage before apparently complying and seating himself at the small table, occasionally throwing the femme venomous glances. The inspecting officer turned his attention back to the guide who was conducting his tour of his new place of work.
“The survey team discovered a minor crèche in the foothills around Vos, and sent out a retrieval team. These two ‘Seekerlings’ are all that could be recovered when the structure collapsed.” The guide indicated the one-way window where the youngling was staring back at the femme with wide optics, before reverting to his previous glare. “She’s one of our house-carers, if you were wondering. Not quite an imprintee, but sadly, that wouldn’t be practical in this case. You can see there that the older of the two has already attained some of the aggressive traits that make his kind ungovernable. Regrettably, the youngling may be already beyond the age where this facility can do him any benefit.”
The guide led the Inspector on to the next part of the tour.
* * *
The mechling ‘hummed’ a half remembered ‘tune,’ small red optics staring in to the darkness of rest cycle. It wasn’t one of the songs from the once-a-cycle seminars, and indeed sounded distinctly different. He couldn’t remember the entire progression, or indeed where he had learnt it from, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the house-carer wouldn’t be any more impressed to hear it than she would be to find him back online at this point of the cycle.
The thought was enough to convince the mechling to shutter his optics, and run the ‘song’ through his processor without vocalising. In spite of him recognising it as a ‘song,’ vocals didn’t really seem to be as important as the motions that went with it- what looked like the irregular shuddering and twitching of the sensory panels - wings - on his back, that he figured he could pass off as the clearing of old sensory data from his memory banks, during recharge.
He relished the memory of an old feeling that came with it; a sense of rightness, of innumerable others alike to him, and of unquestioned belonging-
Memory Error - Bad Sector Detected
-and then it was gone, and he was alone with the flashing message on his HUD.
Last cycle, he knew he had been able to recall more of the song than he had tonight, and held on to the feeling for longer. He had understood the song, up to a point then. He ran the intact section of the memory through his processor again, wings flicking slightly with the partially understood cant.
~First comes the family...~
* * *
“You misunderstand, Inspector. The memory devices on trial are significantly less likely to cause permanent trauma to the memory core than those of other facilities. Because of the age of the subjects’-”
“And just how old are the younglings?”
“Averaging on about one-eighth of a vorn - so far as can be determined. You understand that Vos doesn’t send the senate an exhaustive record of creations and deaths.”
“I see.” The cynical side of the inspector’s thoughts pointed out that yes, that was understandable. “That seems a bit young to be messing with their memory cores.”
The guide responded with a polite, but nevertheless slightly condescending titter. “Even at this age, those ‘younglings’ - as they appear - have been ingrained with such aggressive tendencies that they will never fully integrate with civilized society without critical intervention. No, I’m afraid you’ve got it entirely the wrong way around, sir; it is precisely because they are so young that this treatment is even feasible. This, my dear inspector, is their best chance for a better life, and perhaps their only chance for a good one.”
The inspector said nothing, but motioned for his guide to elaborate.
“It was rather unexpected actually, but a Towers representative visited the facility just cycles ago to express an interest amongst his peers to take in some of the Seekers, should the project go smoothly. They offer a privileged, nigh opulent, life that is attained by few Autobots, never to even mention their own kind.
“But most of all, do you not think it unkind to allow them to be plagued for life with memories of their dysfunctional, negligent brood?”
There was little that the inspector could say in reply to that. It was common knowledge that the military builds lacked the faculties to provide adequate care for their offspring, even if they were not intentionally negligent, and that their violent nature led to outright abuse, as often as not.
Otherwise, why would these facilities exist?
A/N: Thanks to Gaz, Fizz for their help, and Mack for betaing.
Season's greetings, Sajuno. If you like this I may write more.
N/B: This is the first fic I've written in years, the second fic I've written since I knew what "fanfiction" was, and the third fanfic written in my life, so be nice, and criticize it's grammar/spelling/flow/ability to mesh with the continuity I wrote it for/et cetera.
(Word Count: 870)