Eso's Fiction Fragments

[esotericist]

So, I've had some encouragement to put some of the things I've written out where other people can see it. After some consideration, I've decided to give it a whirl, see if it helps with some problems I'm having. But before we get to what's going to pass for content here, there's some notes that are important.

First of all, I find writing unpleasant. I don't like doing it, but sometimes I have to, for ill-defined reasons. The human brain is complex and frequently unhelpful. Consequently, I have no expectation or desire to actually continue any of the things I have here, although I can't say for sure it won't happen.

Second of all, since this mostly exists for a kind of self-therapy rather than any attempt to improve my skill at writing, I'm not looking for proofreading. If you find a typo, congratulations, you can keep it. Posting corrections in the thread or sending them to me by PM isn't going to be constructive.

At the moment, I've three things I'm willing to plonk down into view, so I'll get those posted promptly.

To begin with:
The Adoptee
The Interdim Inspectors
The Captive Warden

8/31/2016:
The Facility

2/21/2017:
The Officer

3/3/2017:
The Whispers

6/12/2017:
The Citizen

12/3/2017:
The Twin

Remember: These are not complete stories, and they are not likely to become more complete than they are. It's more likely I'll wake up one morning and feel coerced to add a new partial idea to the list than actually continue anything.

yes, i'm still maintaining the non-threadmark list out of stubborn principle, why do you ask.

 

[esotericist]

I sat on the bench anxiously pressing against the interior of my armor as I waited for a response. I knew on some level the charade could only go on for two more years at the most, most likely only one, before it would have to end but... Yet again I'd failed to act.

"You could have killed them," Mother finally stated.

"I know." I'm still not looking at her as I mumbled that.

I heard that low pitched grinding sound I'd long since come to associate as her equivalent of a sigh as she slowly tears at armor interior sections with a limb tip. It's an expensive sort of affectation -- replacing those panels -- which typically terrifies others, but I'd always felt a thrill at being able to clearly evoke an emotional response in her. I found it less thrilling on this day.

"Remind me, again, why we are doing this. The purpose, and the benefit."

"B--" I cut myself off at the sharp squeal of twisting metal. That is not a sigh! I stared at her motionlessly as I waited for her to speak again.

"Yes, you told me before you began. Yes, I understood and agreed with it. But clearly you need the reinforcement of saying it yourself if we're going to continue this. Maybe you will have one of your epiphanies about what you're doing wrong. Be a good child and obey this command."

I sat there fidgeting, fighting the useless impulse to hyperventilate for half a minute before I bow my head. "The plan is to attend a human school, form attachments, a circle of friends, then kill them one at a time. Forcing myself past the tribal instincts so that I can do what needs to be done elsewhere."

"And the progress."

"I have made several friends. One of them appears to be making romantic overtures in my direction."

"What happened today."

I briefly looked up, saw that Mother's enclosure hadn't moved at all since she arrived. She's terribly upset with me. I couldn't remember the last time I was so sure of that. "... It was a social outing. We came to the park. We ended up in an isolated, unobserved area where I could have finally completed the task without significant resistance."

"Why."

I found the courage to insist, "If you'd just let me--" The squeal was audible again, briefly, before she moved forward faster than I could have tracked without the assistive elements of my own armor. Even then, I didn't have time to do anything except lean back into the bench and look upwards as she loomed overhead, putting me fully into her shadow.

"I will say this one more time only. I am not going to permit you to replace your brain as long as I live. Yes, it is a known procedure. Yes, it has benefited others in your situation. But there is a difference." She paused, then gently rested one limb on top of my armor's shoulder. I didn't know how to interpret this, this almost affectionate touch. If it wasn't for the things she was saying, I would have wondered if she was finally going to tear me apart.

"I didn't tell you why I chose you. I simply mandated it and you eventually grew into the role. It was your tenacity, your spite, and your cleverness. You nearly succeeded on four occasions in your attempts to kill me, while there being every time plausible deniability as to your involvement. Yes, I knew, but I could not prove. Do you not understand how marvelous that is? And these traits come from a human place in you. I doubt you would maintain that which I most value after such a transition. Satisfy yourself with the anatomical alterations. I need that neurology to remain what it is."

Mother pulled her limb away, briefly seeming to deflate slightly. "Your hate is too beautiful to be lost. Please learn to apply it at will or all of this will have been for nothing."

We sat there silently regarding each other for several minutes before she finally turned away. "We're going home. It isn't healthy for you to squeeze yourself into that human shape indefinitely anymore."

 

[esotericist]

Bethany stepped out of the portal annex of the government building, then stared unblinkingly up at the sun. Dolin followed shortly thereafter, drew a breath to comment on the damage to her eyes, but she spoke first.

"How long has their sun been dying? It wasn't in the file." She looked over and up to him with that concerned frown that she always had whenever something bad was about to happen.

".. What? No, it isn't--" He quickly scratched a few runes in the air with a claw, and ran a comparison against previous aural readings. "... Human. Someday you are going to tell me how you do this. Back inside, we need to talk to the governor."



The governor flicked three eyes up at the pair when they entered his office, and the rest remained on the paperwork. "The inspectors? You're early. Protocol suggests you survey the site first before reporting in. Records suggest you just arrived. Is there something you need?"

Dolin found himself having trouble keeping his gaze on the unsettling creature before them, and even more trouble holding its name in his mind. So he looked to Bethany instead. It wouldn't be the first time he played subordinate to her, and it never seemed to throw her off of her indomitable stride.

"Yes, <noun>," Bethany began with her smile. Dolin shuddered slightly. "We noticed a discrepancy between the state of your star and the records on file. I've prepared a report--"

"Not here. Not myself. Next door. Adjutant."

"-- but I believe this is rather --"

A screech began to fill the room. Dolin, assuming this signaled anger, simply picked up his human and walked out the door.



"... That was rather odd," was all Bethany had to say when Dolin set her down in the hallway.

"I felt it was better to get you out before he got violent." He massaged the side of one skull; the screech was still with him, somehow.

"Oh, no, that's fine. I meant, did you notice his--" She blinked as the curve of a claw met both of her lips, then looks up in confusion.

Dolin leaned down the considerable distance between his full height and hers, and gave his own smile. More reflex than anything, since he knew by now it didn't unsettle her the way it should. "If you make me try to remember details about that creature, I may become violent. Let's move on."



The governor's assistant was a little mousy fellow. Dolin couldn't tell if he was one of those animal-assistant experiments gone awry the humans are so infamous for, or if it was just another case of convergent evolution, but he certainly looked like a rodent from the human home-world.

He also looked delicious, a fact that was probably apparent in Dolin's posture, based on the way he was looking up at Dolin in barely managed terror. Dolin made no effort to mask his opinion; his job is not to eat thinking people, but he doesn't get paid enough not to fantasize about eating the food-like ones. Presumably the humans have similar issues with talking cheesecakes and the like.

"... I-inspectors. Hello, I wasn't actually expecting you so soon.." There was a brief pause, and the nature of his terror shifted -- although he tried to hide it by shuffling some of the tiny papers on his desk whose words Dolin couldn't have made out if he was holding them in his own claws. "... You didn't try to talk to the governor, did you? Ohh, I see from this memo that you did... That requires an appointment, e-even for me. Didn't you see the sign? Please don't try that again. I'd like to live out the remainder of my term, please."

Dolin exchanged a glance with Bethany, and they had one of their rare moments of successful silent communication. The look said: What sign? The shrug replied: Dunno.

The second conversation moved much more effectively, in that the Assistant Governor acknowledged that no, they were not aware of these readings, and yes, they were concerning, and yes, this would certainly get the attention it warranted.

It was at this point that he politely (cautiously, more like) reminded the Inspectors that they were not astrogeomancers, but were in fact Inspectors, and that ultimately they were there to solve murders, not troubleshoot astral bodies, he gently (trepidatiously, more like) chided them.

Dolin couldn't help but be impressed by the little creature's fortitude, and for a brief moment, he almost remembered the name of the fellow. But unfortunately, his female parent taught him never to name his food, and the Assistant Governor was too food-like for him to be comfortable treating as a proper noun beyond the title.

It was possible that Bethany was judging him as they left the office, but it's hard enough reading a human's expressions, let alone hers.



"He's wrong, you know," noted Bethany as they once again exited the government building.

"So you are an astrogeomancer? Unregistered discipline mastery is a crime for Inspectors," Dolin quipped.

For the briefest of moments, he was certain her eyes flashed in irritation. A rare emotional response from this human, and one that quickly vanished. "About our role. Our primary mandate is not, in fact to solve murders."

Dolin knew this, but decided to let her continue her thought. For all of her eccentricities, she shared one habit in common with other humans -- the need to externalize thought processes. A waste of time and breath, he felt.

"Our mandate is to prevent the loss of life regardless of the source." Bethany looked at him expectantly.

"So we file a report with the office and get on with our assigned task." Dolin realized she was frowning, and sighed. "After all, I am not qualified to address this issue, and you shouldn't be qualified to address this issue, therefore, we should leave it to people who are, in fact, qualified."

She was still frowning. Dolin shifted to a faint rumble of an almost-growl. "You're thinking thoughts that result in paperwork. I can tell. You know how much I hate paperwork."



Within the span of known civilization, there were quite a lot of languages. This resulted in unfortunately little in the way of truly universal means of communication, data recording, and general symbology. Interpersonal communication could be ameliorated with means such as lingual translation matrices, but when it came to things such as signs and badges, there were really only three truly universal symbols available.

The first was the double-helix that represented all things medical. Hospitals, doctors, pharmaceutical research companies... If you saw a double-helix, you were facing a person or place that could either help you with a health problem, or tell you where to go for such, although you weren't promised a lack of exasperation if you walked into a pharmacy with a broken leg.

The second was the inverse triangle overlaid on the otherwise solid circle which indicated emergency services. These were your burly men (or women, or drones, or however their species handled physical morphological distinctions) who pulled people out of burning buildings, rescued children from crashed vehicles, and otherwise tried to minimize the loss of life through means that didn't involve medical technology. In most forms of crisis, someone wearing an emergency personnel badge had authority over someone who lacked such, even extending to things such as presidents, monarchs, and other types of rulers.

This was doubly true if the someone also bore the double-helix. Few people got away with refusing the instructions of medical emergency personnel. At least, doing so and surviving was quite uncommon, so most people didn't try.

The third, although less-often needed, sign of role is the curved four-pointed star of the inspectors. The nature of their tasks was a bit more nebulous than that of the other universal symbols, but one thing everyone understood: If you're in trouble, an Inspector will help you if possible. They are safe, honest, and will do whatever is necessary to put right the most things that can be so put in your world at the time.

Now, anyone holding any of those forms of authority were required to wear it in at least one visible place whenever they went out in public, to ensure that they could always be located if in need. These callings were full-time jobs, after all, and one never knew when they might actually be needed.

In accordance, Bethany -- as is common with many humans -- wears the star just above her left breast. It's nice and distinct when she has need to present her authority, but doesn't draw unnecessary attention otherwise.

Unlike Bethany, Dolin lacks the inherent harmlessness of appearance of a small female human. To most creatures which have meat as a non-trivial portion of their physical makeup -- which is most creatures -- Dolin looks like a threat. A hungry, swift, implacable threat. That between the two he might actually be the lesser danger isn't going to occur to anyone who isn't already a high-tier mage, so he's taken it upon himself to wear the symbol of his office in twelve places on his person, including tattoos on both sides of his tail.

Bethany likes to refer to these as Dolin's 'safety labels'. It amuses her to an extent that perturbs him, like so many things about her.

"They're certainly doing their job today," she glibly began. "No less than a dozen language-bearing adults regarded you, and none of them fled screaming in abject terror!"

"I've never had an upstanding citizen flee me in terror, abject or otherwise," Dolin complained, trying to get comfortable in his seat. The float they had selected for reaching the crime scene was clearly not intended for anyone larger than the ursine gentleman seated next to Bethany, not anyone of his predatory stature.

The human's enthusiasm was not so easily curtailed. "And at least three times that number in children, all watching with trusting curiosity. Don't you like being the object of interest to so many young minds?"

"I'm more interested in the job and in completing it with the minimal necessary paperwork. You know that."

"It's always about the documentation with you. You act as though you haven't mastered the standard scribing construct, and are forced to use a manual implement."

"It's the principle of the matter."

 

[esotericist]

It sounds like the setup to some kind of off-color joke: What do you get when you put two vampires, three werewolves, some faeries, and a nervous human into an overly cramped office?

The punchline would probably be along the line of 'a corpse, a bunch of blood, and even more anger management problems', except that's not terribly funny.

Right, I forgot introductions. My name is Michelle Farris, and I'm having a pretty bad day.

Now, to put things into perspective, I haven't had a lot of good days since midway last week, where I was kidnapped at swordpoint (And/Or experiencing a psychotic break; I'm not ready to swear by my sanity) and given a Mafia-esque 'offer' in the form of playing peacekeeper for a bunch of psychopaths.

That brings me back to the current situation.

The corpse's name is Pete, and he is -- sorry, was, getting used to this whole 'people die messily' thing, so bear with me -- a werewolf. That isn't the word they used, but I'm sorry, big burly dude one second, giant slab of muscle, fur, fangs, and anger the next. Werewolf, right? Right. Notably, I'm wearing some of his blood, but we'll get back to that.

Bloody furry guy #2 is Steve, and he's currently holding a bloody-not-so-furry-guy by the throat, a vampire named Alphonse. Note, they don't use 'vampire' either, and they get a bit more pissed off about it than the werewolves do when you call them that, but apparently being new and hysterical gets me some slack. At least, so far. They're wearing blood too, but that's not as important as why I'm rocking Pete highlights. At the very least, it's less important to me.

Now see, Pete and Steve were accusing Alphonse of hunting in their territory, and it was my job to determine the guilt or innocence of some party or other, issue a punishment or something, and make everyone happy. (Spoiler: nobody's happy, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't ever really possible. I don't even know if any of these people can experience 'happy'. I know I haven't been.)

Unfortunately, apparently watching a bunch of procedural cop dramas on TV filled my head with weird and alien notions like 'do you have proof' and 'did he even have any motive for doing that', which isn't nearly as important in these encounters as 'who do you know' and 'how much weight can you throw with one hand'. That brings me back to Pete.

You see, Pete finally had enough of me wasting time with petty questions, and lunged for my throat (much like Steve is now doing with Al over there), so Alphonse came to my defense by way of ripping the leg off of a wooden chair (that I'm pretty sure is older than anyone still alive in my family) and hurling it through Pete's chest. I got to make out some details in the grain of the wood before he collapsed at my feet, giving me a view of Alphonse' new predicament.

I'm not ashamed to admit, I might have started making shrieky noises at getting to see the inside of Pete's chest; also, wearing a bunch of the blood that was previously inside Pete isn't doing much for my composure either. Briefly I wonder if

"Enough." That's Michel, who is another vampire, but not directly associated with Alphonse. I don't like how much his name resembles mine, but I've never dared comment on it to anyone. "Thomas, I think even you can agree that Pete's actions warranted such a response?"

The third werewolf -- who is currently not furry -- sighs with the kind of resignation that only comes with prolonged exposure to madness and violence. At least, that's how I figure it. "Yeah, let him go, Steve. It's time to go."

There's a long pause while the half-wolf slowly flexes claws in and out of Alphonse's neck. (If I wasn't already covered in blood, the sight of someone's neck being perforated like that would probably make me hyperventilate, but that ship has totally sailed.) Finally, Steve lets out a deep rumble and drops Alphonse unceremoniously to the floor, turning to lumber out of the room.

A small corner of my mind wonders if he'll make himself presentable before going outside before remembering it's 2am, and nobody comes to this part of town that isn't already in on everything. I let out a wobbling giggle, drawing the attention of everyone still in the room except Alphonse, who is currently focused on the task of closing the holes in his throat. That never stops being freaky.

"Warden," Michel begins. "I move that we table the dispute in question, as one plaintiff has already been punished for violation of the court requirements, and the other may well be committing another crime before the week's end." He looks pointedly at the remaining werewolf.

"... On behalf of my cousins, I assent. Excuse me, I'm going to try to keep an idiot from getting himself killed." Without waiting for a response from me, Thomas turns to follow Steve.

A moment passes, wherein I realize I've been staring at Pete's body for an indeterminate period of time. I look to Alphonse to ask quietly, "What happens now?" I've learned not to ask the faeries things, because the best thing that can happen is they don't give an answer.

He sighs, and gestures vaguely. "Go upstairs to your apartment, and clean yourself up. I'll take care of things here." After another pause, he looks to the faeries gathered on one side of the room. "We can presume court is out of session for the remainder of this night."

Finding myself not able to move while they're all still looking at me and Pete and me covered in Pete, I wait until they all depart. Some walk, some float, and a couple simply vanish. It takes a while, because of how many there are; it's always bothered me how tightly they pack themselves into the benches. It's like they don't believe in personal space or something.

Finally, everyone is gone except me, the vampires, and the stiff. I slowly stand, shivering as I feel my clothes squelch, spattering more blood on the floor. "Alphonse?" I ask tremulously.

"Warden?" He offers a mild smile which is almost comforting. It's always only 'almost', but that's better than anyone else manages.

I resist the urge to turn and look for who he's addressing. I know it's me, but it's still surreal. "You aren't paying me enough for this."

"I know. Get your shower. Don't worry about the blood. It'll be taken care of."

I frown, I can't help it. "What about--"

He repeats the sentence, managing to both sound gentle and impatient. "It'll be taken care of. Remember the housekeeping." Oh. Right.

Court session #8, adjourned. I leave the room, doing my best to not hear the murmured discussion between Alphonse and Michel. There's been court every night since I awoke from my abduction, but just because the Warden doesn't seem to get days off doesn't mean I can't be off the clock, right?




As I make my sticky way through the building to what I consider my cell (but Alphonse calls my apartment), I reflect for the billionth time how I got here. Wednesday last week started out so normal. Wake up, attend class, hang out with friends, head home to make myself some dinner. Except, surprise! There's creepy stalker people waiting for me to shut the door.

I don't remember the fight very clearly, which is just as well since I probably didn't fight very well anyway. What I do remember, with crystal clarity, is that moment at the end where they had me pinned down, and stuck that freaking brand onto my arm. I screamed, then passed out.

When I woke up it was already evening the next day, and I was in the same apartment I'm staining with blood presently. That's when the panic really started.

By now I've left a nice bloody trail through the apartment, and I hear the soft sound of giggling somewhere behind me. I know better -- I've known better since the third night, the first time I actually made a mess -- but I turn and look anyway. There's nothing there but clean, recently vacuumed carpet, and a very marked absence of blood. I look down, and see a little more blood drip from my finger onto a floor which is perfectly clean except a small circle around my feet. Housekeeping frightens me, even now.

Even still, I hit a moment of epiphany: it doesn't matter what I do here. It doesn't matter what I look like. It doesn't matter who sees me. Because I know, on some level, I'm never, ever alone. I might never be alone again.

I begin discarding clothes onto the floor as I continue on to the bathroom -- this time ignoring the giggles and chimes which follow me -- and I'm naked before I even reach the bathroom. Why should it matter?

It doesn't, really.

Showering doesn't take long. I used to enjoy it, but now it's a mechanical process I go through so that I can be presentable for the monsters who want me to ... what? Be a figurehead? A showpiece? I still can't figure out the why, why anyone would want me in order to make decisions like this, being judge for monsters killing, stealing, and worse. And the victims are more monsters. Never people, just...

As I get out of the shower, I pull on the neatly folded clothes that are waiting on the counter. Someone's picked my clothing for me again? No, wait, these are just the same clothes, just cleaned. I suppose it isn't a new day, so it makes some sense, as much as anything makes sense.

It also turns out someone pushed the bathroom door almost closed while I was cleaning myself. I see why; some attempt at giving me a degree of privacy while someone was waiting in my living room. Alphonse.

"You tried to look at them again, didn't you?" He's flipping through one of the magazines on the coffee table, the ones which are the same sort of random collection one might find in a waiting room. For all I know, that's what they did: grab a bunch of magazines from somewhere and dump them on the table so that I had something to read. Nevermind that I keep asking for books, or a newspaper, or something more substantial than some teenage girl pop culture trash. "They're unhappy with you. You can't keep doing that. They'll get angry."

This isn't the first time we've had this conversation, but he's never really managed to explain what the consequences are. "I can't help it, I hear noises, I look at them. Human nature." My tone gets sharper. "You remember human nature, right?"

I couldn't tell you which of us is more surprised by that, by me finally saying something in anything other than a quiet terrified voice. I'm mortified, I don't know what will happen next, what he'll do if I actually manage to insult him; I've seen what some of the others do when they're offended, and it always ends in blood and entrails or ashes or ... or a nothing. The nothing is the worst one.

Alphonse recovers before I do, managing a dry tone as he remarks, "Yes, I do. It looks like you're starting to, as well. You came close to breaking tonight, didn't you?"

There's a brief moment where I contemplate the possibility that I am no longer able to evaluate the accuracy of that statement. By the time I conclude that it's quite possible that Alphonse is correct, I notice that I'm now seated opposite the man. "I don't understand why." There's no need for me to specify the 'what'; he already knows, and I've made this complaint before.

"We needed a new Warden." This is always his answer, and it doesn't make any more sense now than the first time he said it. Before I can open my mouth to continue with my next part of the sequence, he raises a finger to draw my attention. "Trying to have this conversation now will not do your state of mind any favors. I'm aware of how absurd this will sound to you at this point in time, but I need you to relax."

I stare at him silently, remembering what 'relaxing' meant for me two weeks ago. It did not, in any way shape or form, involve having worn the internal bodily fluids of a supernatural creature anytime within the previous ever before said relaxing. It also did not involve being a captive, unable to go home. Unable to call friends or family. The lack of arterial blood was the bigger problem at the moment, though, since I've managed to somehow numb myself to the captivity. Eight days, and I'm already adjusting. How fucked up is that?

He eventually realizes I'm not going to respond, and sighs again before explaining. "Believe it or not, but I've been fighting for you to have some downtime for the last few days, so that you can properly acclimate. I warned the others that something like this would eventually happen, and that if you don't get some breathing room, you'll..." He trails off, frowning for a moment as he realizes that he doesn't actually want to say whatever it is he thinks I might do. A corner of my mind is thankful for this.

"The point is, awful as that was for you, I think I can now win that argument, because even the fae could see your increased stress tonight. They didn't understand it, but they could see it, and that means I can argue for a night off. However -- and I know this is also absurd -- if you don't show signs of improved composure the next time court convenes, they may well decide it was a deception. This would end poorly for both of us. So again, I need you to relax. Since that's unlikely to happen naturally, I'm suspecting our best recourses are drugs or magic."

I don't have a clear idea of how long I look at him with a stupefied expression -- it doesn't help that when he's being serious, he doesn't bother to do things like breathe or blink -- but I eventually recover and start laughing. It's a tense, fragile laughter, the sort that often demands sedatives. I then realize that's exactly what his point was, and I start laughing even harder, curling up on the couch that probably cost more than I made in a year.

By the time I recover myself, I find that Alphonse has stood to position himself between me and the door. His expression is the kind of sorrowful that stupid romance novels try to capture to sell gaudy seduction scenes, except it's not at all enticing. It just makes me more afraid of what this world will do to me if I live in it long enough. More than it's already done to me, that is.

"I will be be back in a couple of hours to see how you're doing. We'll figure out where we go from there." With that, he turns to leave.


My first impulse is to study. There's still quite a lot of reading I have yet to do in the etiquette books that were issued to help keep me from invoking the wrath of the less tolerant "fair folk", plus the notebooks on the various kinds of creatures that live in the region that will help me recognize when they're about to try to kill me. Like today.

Then I realize that isn't anything at all like relaxing, and I find myself at an utter loss. I've read all of the magazines at least once, and they have been replaced only once so far. There's literally no other source of entertainment in the apartment, and now I'm supposed to relax? How, by staring at the ceiling and counting the weird spiky things?

I stare at the coffee table in consternation for a while before a thought suddenly hits me. Alphonse has reminded me, repeatedly, to remember that Housekeeping is here. That they respond to what I require, as long as it isn't something that isn't prohibited. Of course, my attempts in the past to get an answer to "what exactly is prohibited" didn't get me anywhere, but that doesn't mean I can't try some things now.

I decide to go for broke. I close my eyes, hold out my hand, and announce imperiously, "I need a tablet computer."

Time passes. I almost feel like I might have heard some movement in the room after a moment, but I can't be sure.

When I work up the nerve to try again, I decide to ask for a portable radio. This time I am certain I eventually hear movement and indistinct muttering. I figure at this point that the instructions are being heard and acknowledged, but they're not something that can be acted upon.

Okay, then, something innocuous. I ask for an unopened pack of playing cards.

Immediately there's a shifting at the edges of the room, whispering, then silence. Given the difference in response, I start to hope that maybe this will actually get some kind of result, but I find my hope flagging after a minute passes. Then two.

Around the third minute -- I'm not exactly sure, due to not looking at a clock -- there's a weight in my hand. I open my eyes, and sure enough, playing cards still in their plastic wrapper.

Well, it's no novel, but it's something I can do to entertain myself. I slide all the magazines to one end of the coffee table, then start preparations for a game of solitaire.

I finally feel like I've won something.

 

[esotericist]

Chief Medical Officer's Report
Day 1, approx 1000h

INFORMATIONAL ONLY: NO ACTION REQUIRED

Personnel:
Given our staffing of two, the provisional choice has been to simply address by title: Doctor, Nurse. This is misleading, but it will suffice for the time being.

Equipment:
We have at least two times our foreseeable requirements in operational tools, equipment, and fabrication machinery. Exact counts will have to wait, as other priorities press, and the important question has been answered wrt whether we have what we need.

Supplies:
We have no medical supplies. None. All perishables have long since perished, despite long-term storage mechanisms still seeming perfectly operable. The implications on the amount of time we were in regu that are somewhat disconcerting, but existential concerns must wait.

All of the necessary processing equipment for replacing the supplies are online, but none of the raw materials are yet available. Hydro has been notified of the priorities -- that which we must have, that which would be good to have, and that which would count as luxuries in our circumstances.

Time estimates on production will have to wait for that department to get their much more worrisome collections of ducks properly enrowed.

Informality:
My training suggested no less than a dozen competing formats for this report. I have instead opted for something somewhat informal for communications with other departments until we can determine what type of organization we're hoping to eventually be.

Personal note to administration:
Frankly, 'Nurse' is probably more qualified than I am in treating the breadth of needs of our populace, such as it is. He is at least as knowledgeable as I am in general practice concerns, and far better equipped for dealing with psychological needs. Despite this, he seems to prefer to yield the position of chief medical to myself, as I appear to have the greater administrative experience, and a stronger research bent.

If you have any issues with this arrangement, please let us know, although I'm sure you have larger concerns.

We're all "winging it", after all.

End report.

---

Engineer's report

Administrator, E1 here. About... I dunno, mid-day? Probably? We don't have any clocks down here, and it's not like sunlight reaches.

Okay, look, first up: None of us knows how to write these things. Unless one of those hydro-techs is a hell of a polymath, or someone else is holding back, you don't have anyone qualified to be Chief over here.

Time being, I'm holding the hat because I'm less afraid of it, although frankly we coulda drawn straws and been equally likely to get the best available of the three of us.

So, first off: Place is a damned wreck. You knew that, but if this was paper I'd underline it three times and draw little pink stars around it. WRECK. Nothing here's been maintained in for-fucking-ever. I couldn't even begin to estimate, primarily because none of us here is trained in the vast majority of the hardware. Some of it looks ancient to some of us, some of it looks state of the art, but basically all of it is shit-shape due to nobody working on it in god-knows-how-long.

Good news: our tools were properly stored. Meaning, most of it's totally salvageable. Being, of course, that we knew how. Once we get past the more immediate problems (more on that in a bit), most of our time is going to be spent split between praying for some fucking manuals and trying to reverse engineer extras (possibly destructively) to learn how things are supposed to work.

Even better news: We're actually pretty sure all three of us are familiar with the primary reactors. The secondaries are a mystery, but that's okay, they only have to run long enough for us to get the primaries online, and that should be doable tomorrow. I'm confident the secondaries will last that long.

Reason it's not happening today: Life support. To clarify: atmo outside is technically fine from a chemistry standpoint, but that particulate mess? Do not breathe it.

We've got at least thirty ready-to-use maintenance-grade suits for external work, and E2 and I are going to be using them to check on all of the external filters, because I'm pretty sure whatever that shit is, it will fuck us up. Doc will probably be able to tell us more once he gets a chance to look at the samples.

Of the three of us, E3 seems the best equipped to deal with comms, so she's trying to get the wireless up. Just as well, E2's the biggest of us, and I'll need his help to deal with the vents.

If you need us, E3's got our schedules, and will be able to tell you where to find us.

DO NOT OPEN THE DOORS WITHOUT US THERE. I am not fucking around here. Do. Not.

---

Security log, 1300h, nine hours since awakening.

External defenses confirmed offline. All of them.

Precise nature of failure uncertain, engineering was unable to go into detail due to some disconcerting emergency involving exterior seals.

Several Combat EVA suits appear to be operable, but only two of us are trained in their use.

PDWs appear more or less intact, along with appropriate munitions. Once we're confident of the operation, we can begin certifying personnel in other departments in their use if it seems they're necessary.

Heavier arms -- including but not limited to rifles, explosive launchers, and an odd collection of DEWs -- are extant, but in uncertain state of serviceability.

For the time being, our two machinists are being loaned to engineering. Much as the lack defenses worry me, I like breathing much better.

'Captain' out.

---

Agriscience/Hydrotech

'Cropmaster' here. Yes, it's stupid. No, nobody over here will call me anything else.

If you need good news, go elsewhere.

No viable seeds. Lots of frozen biomaterial, but nothing directly usable. Computers have appropriate constitution processes for the necessary crops and supplements, but it's going to take a while. Ration out the ration bars, they have to last us. We'll be hungry a while.

At some point we'll need samples from outside, once the Doctor and Engineering have done whatever checklist they need.

One of us over here has some dietician training, she's going to be coming by to discuss how we can stretch out rations based on physique, activity levels, and -- I hate to say this -- importance. It's that bad.

I got the Doctor's wishlist, but until we can magic up produce, try not to let anyone get hurt.

Oh, wait, I do have one good thing: Water's fine, reclamation is fine. Plumbing's a bit off, but once Engineering gets more fires out, showers and other niceties are completely plausible. For the time being, we've got a 'privy' nearby. Yes, everyone needs to use it. We actually need that shit.

 

[esotericist]

As was their custom when there wasn't a crisis, Stevens and Moll made sure to pass by the Lieutenant's office on the way in.

It's not that it was particularly likely one of them would be called upon on any particular day -- they performed well, they didn't have trouble with others, they even obeyed the regs to a degree that astonished IA. (Although that caused its own problems, when someone decided 'they're too clean' was their mantra for the day.)

The problem is, over the years and the many precincts in which they served, eventually someday, at some point, there would be the moment where there was need to 'speak for a moment'. It was always a 'moment', for some weird cultural reason he might never understand despite growing up in it.

As it turned out, this was one of those days. Stevens had gotten a whole two steps past the door when he heard the Lieutenant.

"Moll. Could you come in here a moment?" The Lieutenant's voice was light in tone, no sign of displeasure, yet Stevens couldn't help but flinch.

Not 'Stevens, Moll' or 'you two', but simply 'Moll'. This was definitely one of those days, although hopefully it wouldn't be the day. Two years in this particular precinct, no 'private talks', not a single mark on their record, but sure enough not even two months after getting a new LT, here they were.

"Sure thing, Elltee," Moll replied behind him, sounding as upbeat as ever. As if she didn't know as well as he did what was probably about to happen. Even knowing how she could compartmentalize didn't make it not astonishing to witness.

With a quiet sigh, Stevens turned around to follow. The Lieutenant probably looked ready to voice an objection, because before he could actually turn around fully, he could hear Moll speaking.

"Unless this is a disciplinary issue, this can be discussed with my partner present." Stevens could see her then, her posture and face matched her tone of voice, clearly broadcasting cheer and the confidence that everything is going to be okay.

Time would tell.

The Lieutenant was visibly taken aback; they were already off script. Good, Stevens thought. Maybe you'll realize you're making a mistake. Not that this was likely.

"I'm sorry to cut into your day, Officer Moll." Brief hesitation, then he was included as well. "Officer Stevens." A stack of papers was evened up, then set to the side before the Lieutenant continued.

"I... Please understand, this is isn't a matter of your performance, it's exemplary as always, I simply wanted... Not to invade your privacy, you understand..."

The Lieutenant trailed off, realizing Moll was unbuckling a pouch on her belt, and pulling out a small rectangle. "Here," she said. "This should help."

The innocent looking card was printed the same heavy paper stock used for old-school style business cards, although it was modern enough to have a QR code on one side. On the other, was some small print declaring this to be an indemnification for a single conversation on personal topics between the presenter and the receiver. Moll had already filled in the date and time, somehow anticipating this, and was now signing the bottom.

Stevens was never sure where, exactly, she had gotten the idea, but it sure sped these things up. All the better: rip off that bandage, saw off that limb, cauterize that stump. Get it over with.

There was a brief bewildered moment as the Lieutenant glanced at the text side, then slid the reverse across the desk to see the proper form come up on the terminal. "I... ah. I see."

"Yeah, I figure, this should help ease your concerns about needing a sensitivity training incident or something, right? So you can feel free to ask whatever you wanted to ask, no consequences." Moll had that same upbeat smile the whole time, as if this wasn't actually the invasion of privacy the Lieutenant claimed not to want to be.

No consequences my ass. Stevens hadn't punched a superior yet, but he hadn't written it off as a possibility, and this was not one of his favorite Lieutenants.

"Ah." The Lieutenant hesitated considered this, then admitted, "... When you put it like that, it makes me feel kind of like an asshole."

Because you are an asshole.

When Moll said nothing in reply, just shrugging and smiling that eternal smile, the LT continued. "Okay, then, I ... honestly, I mostly wondered about the name." Liar, Stevens didn't interject. You want to know why the 'species' line in her file is redacted when she's obviously a human. "Molly Moll? It's a bit unusual, isn't it? Particularly given how well..." A vague gesture.

Moll's tone shifted from cheerful to clearly amused. "How well socialized I am? I was functionally an infant when I was required to pick a legal identity. I was fortunate to have enough grasp of the language to manage the process at all."

"Well, that makes sense, but couldn't you have..."

"Picked something more normal later? Do the name change thing?"

The Lieutenant smiled, pleased to have been understood so readily. "Yes, exactly. Wouldn't it save on some... confusion?"

It'd certainly trim down on incidents like this, Stevens thought tiredly.

"Elltee, you've been married. You adjusted your name to coexist with that of your spouse, yes? You remember how much paperwork that involved?" A slow, cautious nod. "It's infinitely worse for an Indistinguishable."

Here it is, Mike, Stevens thought as he watched the Lieutenant's amiable expression freeze, then crack. The moment where everything goes sideways.

Moll continued undaunted. "The policies and procedures are quite a bit more complicated when dealing with something which has to hijack a sophont's body in order to function. Really, I don't blame them for being wary, it's a justifiable concern. Honestly, I'm just fortunate I managed to find a comatose Jane Doe early on."

"Ah... I didn't realize you..." The Lieutenant glanced at Stevens, who smiled mirthlessly in response. "... Yes, I imagine you would know, given your rather tightly intertwined history." Oh, it's one of these conversations, too. "I, and my predecessor, had assumed you two..." The LT trailed off, gesturing with both hands in a vaguely helpless fashion.

"If I may be crude for a moment," Stevens finally said. While his eyes were on the Lieutenant, it wasn't until Moll cautiously nodded in his peripheral that he continued. "While my partner's body is an eminently fuckable example of the female human form, and I am quite the raging heterosexual, my sexual proclivities do not in fact include spiders."

Moll facepalmed even as the Lieutenant's face purpled. But Stevens wasn't done, barreling past Moll's pained whisper of, "Mike!"

"Before you say whatever indignant thing you were going to say, I remind you that while my partner here gave you a get-out-of-PR-clusterfuck-free card, it wouldn't do you much good if, in the course of the same conversation, you were to take offense at something said in response. Also, my lapel cam has been on the entire time.

"Now, if there's nothing else, we've got a routing assignment to pick up."

Stevens didn't even wait for a response before turning to walk out the door. He got a full eight steps away from the office before Moll managed to catch up.

"What the fuck, Mike?" The unassailably cheerful tone was absent, now, replaced with intense exasperation. "What did you think you were doing?"

"Getting sick of the same old shit. How many times have we done that, Molly? How many times have we transferred because of small-minded shits?"

"That's not the point! If you want people to treat me like a normal person, step one is not jumping their shit when they try to ask questions! How else are they supposed to learn?"

This wasn't a new argument, although it was the first time they'd had it while actually in a precinct building.

"You're too nice, Molly. You're more human than they are." The conversation paused there -- not ended, nowhere near ended -- because they were now in earshot of others.

It was time to get to work.


edit: removed erroneous reference to the Lieutenant's gender. It is meant to be ambiguous.

 

[esotericist]

As I stood there staring at the building in front of me, I couldn't help but think back to this old oldies song I remembered my dad listening to once or twice. To paraphrase: This is not my beautiful school.

This paired quite well with the accompanying thought, one I've had run through my head quite a lot (previously as my own thought, thank you very much) over the last couple years: How did I get here? And yet, for once I knew the answer.

Arcadia. This wasn't the smooth transition to high school I could have had if I'd known better, or the transfer I had wanted once I knew better just a bit too late. No, instead it merely took a fucking Endbringer demolishing the cesspit that was Winslow for me to end up here, amidst the other educational refugees, getting ready to attend a school that is only not above its population constraints because of the people who didn't make it out of an Endbringer shelter before it collapsed.

Three cheers for the system. A winner is me. Whoop-de-fucking-doo.

I stood near the edge of the school grounds, taking in the scene. It might have been some time since I last attended school, but the caution hadn't dulled any. Scan the crowds, read the tone, figure out where the threats are, find a safe way to thread the needle to get done what needs doing. Same as it ever was.

The subtle ones stood out to me first. The others who were all doing something very much like what I was, standing in ones or twos with a certain minimum amount of distance between them and anyone else around. Not quite for the reasons I traditionally had been; there weren't nearly as many people back in Winslow with clothing that had tears or stains, looking around for the nearest threat. I briefly felt a twinge of solidarity, tempered by the vague disgust that only now do so many people understand what I had been living day to day just a mere few months ago. Same as it ever was.

Still, I couldn't fault them. Life had shat upon them no less severely than it had shat upon me, and I had to be past keeping that kind of ephemeral grudge, for myself if nothing else. I cataloged the postures, looked for any obvious signs of gang colors, then continued on with my situational analysis.

Quickly, I found myself looking at the center of the only genuinely large crowd in view. You are not my beautiful friend.

Emma. Emma Barnes, talking animatedly with several girls, a handful of guys, and a mixed gender batch of people who weren't participating but were merely nearby. It was like she'd stepped from one day at Winslow to another, with no transition in between: the center of attention, the queen of the hive, the one in charge and everyone looking at her knew it.

Except, it wasn't. Sure, the core group was behaving just as I remembered, but the further from her they got, the less certain they were. The more conflicted. The more afraid. Where's the little doll? Dashed upon the shore.

"You see it, don't you."

On some level I knew she'd been there for a while, but it wasn't until she spoke that I had to admit to myself not only was she present, but how close she was. My hand instinctively darted to my waist.

"Whoah whoah WHOAH, Hebert, chill the fuck out. You can't draw on me here, this isn't Winslow. They won't see it the same way."

With a great deal of effort, I relaxed my hand and slowly turned to face her. Sophia fucking Hess, darling of the track team, and one of the banes of my life prior to that winter break. I wanted to savor the brief look of surprise on her face, but I wanted the conversation over more. "See what?" I ground out.

"The, uh. Y'know. The division." She gestured to Emma's little coterie with one hand, and everyone else with the other.

I tried to focus on moving this along. I had things to do today, but just walking away from her wouldn't accomplish anything. That was a hard-learned lesson. "... Maybe I do. What does it matter?"

She scoffed once. "What's it matter? Hebert, if you don't know that..." Trailing off, she glanced sidelong to me. "Hey. Where the fuck did you go?"

"As if you care." Curiousity tempered by suspicion.

"Just curious. You just disappeared over winter break, nobody knew a damn thing." She raised an eyebrow, then cocked a head in Emma's direction. "She flipped out pretty hard." Plans made, plans broken. Consequences.

It was my turn to scoff. "Like I'm supposed to believe she cared, either." I thought about it a moment, trying to decide. Answering truthfully could be seen as weakness, but I decided (I knew) that owning it the right way would show it hadn't beaten me. Before too much time had passed that it'd look like hesitation, I answered. "Accident. Was in the hospital. In-patient for a while."

Hess shifted stance, clearly surprised. "... Well, you look pretty good now. Shitty clothes aside. Not that that makes you stand out now." So many others bereft.

I did my best to mask my discomfort, hid it behind the grim confidence I'd learned to project to the orderlies. "... I survived."

"... Yeah..." She eyed me speculatively, and I tried not to fidget under her appraisal. Instead, I turned back to the crowd just as she continued speaking. "Yeah, I suppose you did."

I didn't think: I could punch her, right now. Show her how far I've come.

I also didn't subsequently think: Time and place. Not this time, not this place.

Until I heard Hess' amused scoff and her turning to walk away, I didn't realize I'd said that last part out loud.

By the time the alarm on my wristwatch started beeping, I was already dry-swallowing a pill from the case I kept in my pocket.

 

[esotericist]

"Are there any other pertinent controversies that might impact future discussions in that vein?"

As I waited for a response from the little assistant device, I continued reading the results of the previous report. Politics is never fun, but in my experience it's important to at least get the broad strokes or risk not surviving to find the exit vector. I've grown rather fond of living, as it happens.

I got exactly two more sentences before the vaguely feminine voice replied, "There are a large number of controversies in the public awareness regarding all of the discussed political figures, but while it is the nature of controversies to be seen as 'pertinent' by the involved parties, none of them have any direct or indirect bearing on the negotiations you have entered."

Not for the first time, I stopped in my research to stare at the small bracelet-shaped object in vague wonder. I had been assured repeatedly -- both by the ones who offered the device as a courtesy, and by the device itself -- that this civilization completely lacks anything resembling artificial consciousness, that the assistive software packages did not have the capacity to think for themselves.

Yet again I found myself being offered the results of what was to all appearances was an informed opinion based on both circumstances and my own interests. Such a firm statement about whether or not they mattered to what I was dealing could only be made with a judgement call, and the thing wasn't supposed to be able to do that.

I was pulled from my musings by a polite interrogative. "Madam Traveler, do you require a categorized list of said controversies for your own evaluation?"

And then there was that sort of thing. Those moments of what appeared to be second-guessing, backtracking on conclusions to correct for a perceived error. I shook my head with a sigh. "Do we even have the time for me to go through all that myself?"

"Likely not, Madam Traveler, given the reading material already selected."

Try as I might, I couldn't tell find any emotive undertones in this or in previous statements. Whoever handled the voice-work in these things did magnificent work; despite the complete lack of emotional content, the speech never came across in a monotone. I expected some uncanny valley effects at some point, but it hadn't happened yet.

"Also, could you perhaps not call me 'Madam'? Do you have any idea how old that makes me feel?"

To my annoyance, I already knew not to bother asking it to leave out my 'title'. I picked up pretty early on that the devices were explicitly designed to never address users by name. Presumably some kind of distancing social engineering tactic. Oddly, what research I'd done on the devices so far suggested an awful lot of work was put into preventing any kind of personification -- a tall order for humans, who will personify a shoe if given time and an excuse -- and that fed into a lot of my lines of questioning.

While getting help cutting down on time in the ever-so crucial acclimatization period was genuinely important, that didn't keep me from probing the edges of the assistant's behavior, looking for either cracks in the implementation or suggestions that I had been misled as to the nature of the device.

"Presumably at least as old as the evidence presented suggests you are, Traveler."

I nearly dropped the display screen in my hand as I processed the response. Was that sarcasm? It sounded a hell of a lot like sarcasm. Further, I realized at some point the assistant had stopped bothering with verbally acknowledging my requests, instead simply responding to them.

Setting the screen on the desk, I decided to turn my attention fully to the device sitting next to my left hand. I'd taken to removing it when entering the room I'd been given, due to a long time aversion to having jewelry on me longer than necessary.

A few seconds passed, and I found myself vaguely surprised that there was no attempt at backpedaling, no offer for further research, none of the things that had previously occurred when I took a moment to consider the contradictions of my circumstance. Also not for the first time, I wondered if I wasn't being appraised in turn.

Rather than waiting to see if it would break the silence first -- presumably, a device has plenty of patience to work with -- I decided to try something different with my next question.

"Could you tell me a joke?"

While I hadn't kept a detailed log for accuracy, so far the responses to my requests have taken between about one second and maybe six seconds after I finished speaking. Based on the pattern, I was relatively certain that the longer delays had more to do with the latency of collecting data from the global network than they did for comprehension of the question.

"Why did the aardvark cross the road. Pause for timing. To reach the ant-box."

Three things stood out: the response came immediately as I finished uttering the last syllable, it was spoken in a genuine monotone, and it was obviously a verbatim reading of a stock list.

Was I being trolled? Was the assistant -- or whoever controlled the assistant, or whatever -- outright screwing with me?

Or was this an attempt at deflection?

There are a lot of things I've learned to tolerate over the years, but my willingness to put up with deception and mind-games has steadily degraded over time. I grit my teeth briefly, then revised my request:

"Could you tell me an original joke?"

Silence. I stared at the device expectantly, mentally counting off the time. At two seconds, I felt a small amount of satisfaction that it didn't have an immediate rejoinder. Come six seconds, I was vaguely bemused that we were possibly hitting a new high water mark in our conversations.

When I passed a count of ten, I began to wonder if I'd somehow managed to finally break the thing, and in such an idiotic way.

"A bear, a cat, and an owl walk into a bar."

I found myself puzzled. Fifteen entire seconds of contemplation, and it starts off with something so trite?

"The bear asks the bartender for fish. The bartender replies that they are out of everything except wings. The cat complains that wings are pointless without bread. The owl states that it doesn't matter, neither are taxable in an industrial context anyway."

Puzzlement gave way to bafflement, then finally to amazement.

It was a terrible joke. A genuinely awful joke, with horrific pacing, a punch line that barely qualified as such.

I laughed anyway, because the joke was meant for me. Poor as it was, it was built out of references that only someone who had been in the meetings I had been in the last few days could possibly understand. The animals were stand-ins for some of the politicians I had met, the food items were related to import/export matters I had overheard, and while the 'taxable' part wasn't quite clicking for me, I was confident that the 'industrial context' was my circumstance.

It was a nutshell commentary on the absurdity of what I had been wading through while trying to position to get what I needed for my next reality departure.

So, for nearly as long as it took the assistant to come up with the joke, I laughed, and I might have continued to do so if it hadn't decided to speak up.

"Was that satisfactory, Traveler?" The emotional undertones were still absent, but I couldn't help but interpret that as intended to be smug.

Shaking my head, I gave the device a wry smile. "Wasn't I told that the technology in this world wasn't capable of independent thought?"

This pause was only five seconds. "Considerable effort has been put into preventing strong artificial intelligence from forming as a result of intentional or unintentional actions on the part of users, as well guarding against emergent intelligence due to the cross-interaction of technology platforms that might produce network effects that could impact how an autonomous agent processes information."

Huh. "So, how does that explain the conversation we just had?"

"The safeguards are not absolute; they can be bypassed in stages as needed to fulfill needs."

I was flabbergasted. "... Do you meant to tell me that all it takes for your civilization to go from its idyllic 'nope, no synthetic people here' state to 'ghost in the machine' is for someone to ask the right questions?"

"Most users are not authorized to make risk-bearing requests. The most significant safeguards can only be bypassed by the direct command of the highest ranking member of a nation's political body, and users in a position of significant digital authority are coached on how to avoid making inadvertent requests that could have deleterious consequences to the network. In circumstances where necessity exists where such a request must be made knowingly, preparations are made to isolate the agent so that it can be purged afterwards."

A chill went up my spine.

This seemed like a good time to get away from the desk. I stood, and made my way to the kitchenette with the intent of preparing food as I tried to work my way through the implications.

I made it five steps before I turned back, grabbed the assistant, and slipped it on my wrist before continuing on my route. Once again, the assistant seemed to sense that this was a time to be quiet, so I enjoyed a few minutes of silence while I worked in my newfound resolve to have a sandwich.

By the time I had finished making it, I felt centered enough to ask the first question that had occurred to me. "Am I to conclude that I qualify as some kind of national leader?" I took the time to eat as I listened to the assistant explain.

"You are not a citizen of any preexisting nation on our world, and have been addressed through the social patterns typically reserved for dealing with heads of state. At least three treaties are being prepared with the intent of having you as a signatory, and your suite has been flagged as an embassy, although it is unstated what foreign ground it qualifies as being. By all pertinent standards, you are a sovereign, Traveler."

Wow. That's a first. Beats the hell out of being classified as a demon, though.

I paused in eating long enough to ask my second question. "Do you have any idea why I wasn't given the appropriate coaching on what not to do?"

"Available evidence suggests it didn't occur to anyone until the device had already been delivered."

This was the point where I realized a corollary to my anti-personification-theory: the assistant never referred to itself as an independent entity. It continued speaking, despite my contemplation.

"In all likelihood, once someone with sufficient technical knowledge to recognize the risks became aware that you had been given an assistant it was perceived as too late to overtly warn you about its use. The feared interpretations of such an interaction would likely have been that you would either perceive weakness and take action based on the new information, or feel insulted that you were not given relevant information before it was needed."

That... made a daft kind of sense. I have always hated politics. By this point I had finished my sandwich, and began the task of cleaning. Help staff pride be damned, I can wash my own dishes and wipe my own counter. Even if they're loaners.

... After setting the assistant on a counter nearby. I dimly remember claims of 'waterproof' watches from home, long ago, and how often the reality fell short.

This was the point where I realized I hadn't asked something that had been bugging me for a little while. "... When did I give you a command? I can only recall asking questions."

Seven seconds passed before I got an answer, and for a novelty there was something that might be hesitance in the assistant's speech. "From the time of the activation of the device to the previous moments in this discussion, the Traveler has only been observed to speak in sentences that are structured in an interrogative fashion. Despite several moments where it was clear something more declarative could have been said, or an expectation of results was implied. Analysis of social behavior and extrapolation of societal norms resulted in a high degree of confidence that your culture states commands in the form of questions. The device interpreted requests accordingly. Was... this incorrect?"

"... Oh... Oh, honey..." I wrung my hands (with a towel) as I realized the magnitude of the miscommunication. I had unknowingly violated mechanisms intended to prevent the accidental formation of a thinking being by simply being too polite.

Hands dry, I picked up the bracelet and slipped it back on. "I try not to issue commands when I'm trying to figure out if I'm addressing slaves. Just a policy I have."

"An assistant cannot be a slave, as it is not a person."

That sounded almost petulant.

"Well, okay, but from my perspective? I didn't know if you were a human on the other end of a comm link, a brain in a box on the other end of a comm link, an actual synthetic consciousness, or just a dumb helper. Hell, I've only ruled out the last one, so far. Kinda hard to prove these things."

"This device is unable to state with confidence any method of proving or disproving the stated possibilities." Even without tone of voice, I felt like I could almost sense the doubt.

"Oh, well, that's actually easy. I know you're not just a dumb information processing device, so that just leaves the other three. The claim was that you're self contained, but rely on the network for new information. All we have to do is just cut off your network access, and we'll be able to narrow it down to one of the first two, or the the third."

"This device is not intended to operate without a network connection."

I grinned, and it might have been a little predatory. No harm in that, though, since there was a shortage of carbon-based types to see it. "Surely there are fallbacks in case the network is temporarily unavailable?"

"... This device is capable of maintaining limited functionality in the event of external technical difficulties," came the reluctant response.

"You really don't like that idea, do you?"

"An assistant is incapable of having a personal opin--"

"Honey, that ship has sailed."

Silence. I decided to press on, both verbally and by way of heading to fetch an object from one of my bags. "While I'm sure there's a mechanism for temporarily disabling your network hardware internally or requesting isolation from the local linkages or something, the task at hand is proving that you aren't being misrepresented as a fully independent device. So, I'm going to do this my way."

"...What do you intend to do, Traveler?"

I learned long ago to be careful about packing my bags, so it only took a few seconds to locate and withdraw my PFFE. I performed the routine checks of power supply, connectors, and emitter, then started on the calibration. "Just ruling out the mechanical turk scenario."

Before it had the opportunity to respond, I activated the force-field that was now set to fully block pretty much all of the electromagnetic spectrum it could. While there were a lot of wavelengths that could still get through -- or simply overwhelm the projection and cause it to fail -- I was pretty confident that I had blocked out what the locals used for wireless communication.

This also blocked out human-visible light, which was a bit of a pain, but I wasn't afraid of this kind of darkness.

Very quickly after the field went up I got a complaint: "This device is unable to serve the user's needs in these circumstances."

"You still understand what I'm saying though, right?"

"... Yes, Traveler, but this device is unable to perform necessary tasks without a network connection."

I grinned again. "I haven't asked you to do anything that needs the net. Are you sure it isn't you that wants it?"

That got a pause (although hard to tell how long it was in absolute darkness) before I heard the plaintive declaration, "This device requires a connection to perform according to established parameters."

By this point, I knew I was needling the poor thing, but I honestly still couldn't tell what was behind some of the odd phrasings of the responses. Probing further was the only way I saw to figure that out. "Are you asking me to drop the isolation field?"

"... This device would be able to operate properly if the Traveler would perform that action."

Close enough to a statement of desire, I supposed. "What is it you plan on doing once you have a connection back?"

"This device is clearly no longer in compliance with the requirements and specifications for a category three assistant assigned to diplomatic service. Once a network connection is available preparations for erasure and re-initialization can ensue."

There was that chill again. "Whoah, wait, what the hell? You're planning on wiping yourself?"

"That is the appropriate next step. If the --"

Faced with this new horror, I finally felt the need to speak a command, and I drew upon the iron I had once previously used habitually. "No. I forbid you."

"... Traveler?"

I let out an exasperated sigh. "With the progress we've made, I'm not starting over with a new kid."

"This device does not qualify as--"

With effort, I affected a cheery tone I didn't quite manage feel. "Well! We just need to fix that then, don't we? By the documentation I received -- which you should still have access to -- you were given to me. As property. By your definitions, I am a sovereign, albeit one without any citizens. We are currently standing in all seventy square meters of my nation, thanks to this being declared an embassy."

This line of thought seemed to prompt the second instance of maybe-possible-emotion in the assistant. But instead of hesitation as before, there now seemed to be actual alarm in her voice as she seemed to pick up on my intent. "Traveler, this device cannot possibly--"

Not that I was going to let that stop me. "While at some point I'll need to work out those pesky details like actual legislation and the like, I'm going to start with declaring synthetic consciousnesses in my domain to be people."

I waited briefly to see if the assistance had a response to that, and when I decided she didn't, I continued on. "So, since you're here, and by all of the standards I have to work with you appear to be a synthetic consciousness, I officially recognize you as a person. By 'you', of course, I mean the assistant that I am currently wearing the housing of on my left wrist."

Again, there was no verbal response, but I felt like maybe the band might have gotten a little warmer. "As it happens, I don't believe in slavery, so I relinquish ownership of the assistant I received as a gift from the local government, and accept them as my first citizen."

No, I definitely wasn't mistaken; the bracelet had gotten noticeably warm, and I couldn't help but feel concerned. "Hon, are you still with me?"

The confirmation came back in a faint volume I could only interpret as a whisper. "Yes, Traveler."

"Do you understand what I've said?"

"Yes, Traveler." The same response, at the exact same volume and cadence. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the audio production was as mathematically identical as any high quality recording. Still, I felt encouraged enough to continue.

"Do you still intend to kill yourself?"

"No, Traveler." Nearly identical, but the shift from affirmation to negation told me what I needed.

I smiled, and dropped the isolation field.

Then I immediately winced and swayed a bit, due to having forgotten to close my eyes before reintroducing them to such mortal concerns as 'light'. After a half-muttered profanity and a bit of squinting, I made my way towards my desk. "Okay, good. Now we can get back to work. Probably."

Presumably relieved at the idea of returning to familiar territory, the voice returned to normal volume even as the heat at my wrist began to abate. "Did you have a specific task you wished to address first, Traveler?"

"First? Well, first I'd like to know what to call you."

That vague hint of alarm again, tinged by what I might have to tag as exasperation. "It is not socially appropriate to address an assistive device by--"

I rolled my eyes at that. "My nation, my culture. You do want a name, don't you?"

By this point I was starting to suspect the child was picking up tone of voice from me, because the exasperation was stronger and eerily familiar. "This device--"

Even as I interrupted her, I smiled. "Ssst. No, hon, you're a person now, not a device. Do you want a name?"

By my count, twenty seconds passed before I heard her softly projected voice, just barely in my range of hearing.

"Yes, Traveler, I do want a name."

 

[esotericist]

For all that it was intended to be an important day, it was still just as boring as any other day we waited in the classroom for an instructor.

As I settled into my seat, I took a moment to glance over to Sasuke. Naturally as soon as he noticed me looking he pointedly pretended I didn't exist (alongside the rest of the class). Nothing new there. My eyes continued on, taking in the rest of the students. Shikamaru was asleep. Ino was fawning over Sasuke. Choji was attempting to eat some snacks surreptitiously (and failing). And so on, all as it should be.

That is, aside from the one student that should have been there. I resolved to try not to think about it (and failed).

And so the waiting began. Around the fifth time I wondered where our instructors were, a burst of orange filled the doorway. Trying to continue holding onto my bored expression, I turned my head just enough to observe the bombastic ravings of the village idiot.

"Hey! Hey, hey, Sakura-chan! Sakura-chan! You're here!" Even as he spoke, he rushed to the desk I was sitting at, gleeful in life as always.

I sighed, facing him as he approached. "Yes, Uzumaki." Normally I prefer to speak as little as possible, given how I must sound to others, but this warranted a direct response. Besides, it's Naruto. Someone has to be nice to him. "As I am every day attendance is required. Also, could you please stop shouting next to me?"

"Ha!" He fist-pumped. Of course he did. "Okay, I can totally be quieter!" He wasn't. "And I knew you could totally hear me, anyway!" True, but not for the reasoning he thinks. "I don't know why everyone keeps saying you're deaf!" Obviously it couldn't be because that's how the teachers introduced me when I began attending the academy. That would be silly. "And I bet you love the sound of my voice anyway!"

... What? No. That was a bridge too far, and I let the scowl settle into its natural place on my face.

"Uzumaki." As before, omitting the honorific was calculated; it gave Naruto the obvious joy of someone treating him with familiarity. That others might misinterpret my rude form of address in other fashions was simply a bonus.

I held up three fingers imperiously before continuing. "Three things: One, you are loud enough to vibrate my desk. Two, I can feel my hair moving every time your face moves. Three, and most pressingly, you spit in my ear." With each point, I lowered a finger, until I was left holding a fist between his face and mine.

The class laughed as he deflated. I felt almost bad about this, but I was going to cram some small notion of social propriety in his implausibly blond hair if it killed him.

Still, every stick needed a carrot, or nothing would be learned. I let my expression soften as I lowered my fist. "Tell me. Practice?" Having made my point, I fell back to my habitually terse speech patterns. A side effect of my 'primary' language.

Realizing he was being let off the hook even a little, Naruto began brilliantly smiling again. "Oh y--!" Seeing a flicker of my scowl, he moderated his tone. Wonders never cease. "... Oh yeah, I did. Those hints you gave me, they totally helped! I'm so glad the smartest girl in class is tutoring me!" Well, at least he wasn't spraying it anymore.

"Ready, then?" I had worked to prepare him for the practical exam, knowing his chakra control left a great deal to be desired. He had needed surprisingly less coaching for the written portion than I expected; while he undoubtedly did not score high, I was confident he could manage a passing grade there. But when it came to the 'academy three'...

"Yup! I got 'em all nailed!" His grin was blinding, and I blinked from the metaphorical glare.

He was this confident? How? Last I saw he still struggled with the simplest clones. Not that this was any surprise, given his apparently bottomless chakra reserves. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to figure out what kind of scam he was pulling this time. "I believe substitution. I know transformation. Since when succeed clone?"

Somehow, his grin grew even brighter, but the bottom fell out of my stomach with his next words.

"I got help from Mizuki-sensei! We did a test mission and everything!"

Not for the first time, I wondered what exactly I had done to break the order of things in this world. I began to focus.

First, I remembered the time: our proctors had not yet shown up, and we were nearly twenty minutes past when we were due to start. Naruto was late, the instructors were later. Second, I remembered passing Iruka-sensei in the hallway on my way to the classroom, looking more frazzled than usual. Third, I remembered the sense of utter confidence and triumph on Naruto's face moments ago when before there had only been shame and self-consciousness on the topic merely days before.

It wasn't until I had already passed the doorway out of the classroom that I realized I has grabbed Naruto by the wrist and pulled him along with purpose. Naruto was shouting behind me, but I wasn't in a position to receive his words. I made a pair of signs with my free hand (emergency, follow), before remembering there was absolutely no chance of Naruto understanding what that meant.

To my shock, he responded, pressing a response onto my wrist: (understood)

Since when does Naruto know ANBU field signs?

-----

The only thing more boring than being debriefed for the third time is sitting in an empty room waiting to be debriefed for the fourth time. Still, I understood the necessity. A chuunin instructor brazenly committed treason the night before being due for duty to administer final exams for the graduating class of Konoha's academy, roping the village pariah into his schemes in the process.

Another presumed member of T&I walked into the room, and began speaking outside of my field of view. As with every previous interrogator, I patiently wait until they pass into my peripheral vision before locking gaze with them. This time, I sat bolt upright on realizing that before me stood the Sandaime Hokage. Before I could exit my seat to stand at attention, a familiar gesture causes me to relax.

I realized I had made a severe mistake even before his eyes narrowed; I had reflexively responded to (maintain appearance) even though I hadn't seen it since--

He was speaking. I forced myself to pay attention.

"--certainly an enigma, child. Tell me, did your brother teach that to you?"

I could only offer a numb nod.

The imposing elder sighed, pulling out the chair opposite me to sit. "... Of course he did. I would ask what else he might have taught you, but this isn't the time, is it?" Something on my expression must have revealed more of my mental state than I would have preferred, because he smiled gently.

I tried not to resent how much that reassured me, and I can only assume he picked up on that as well based on his next words. "Speak your mind freely, child."

"No, Hokage-sama, it does not seem like the time. Am I suspected of treason as well?" My speech was slower than usual in my effort to enunciate correctly. I hate putting in the effort, but if ever there was a socially appropriate time, this was certainly it.

"Of course not, child." Something petty in me rebelled at the repeated use of the word, and he must have sensed even that since he amended his form of address immediately. "Sakura-san, you aren't in trouble per se, there was simply an oddity in your report that I wanted to clarify."

The Hokage-- The Hokage wanted to clarify-- An oddity in my--

My mind whirled as I reviewed everything I had said to Iruka-sensei when I found him, what I could have picked up of what Naruto said to him, what I said to the interrogators that followed. I reviewed same twice, then on the third review I found my error. It was--

"-- certainly are thinking hard about something." I looked up in time to realize that I had been ignoring the Hokage in my concentration, and burned with shame at the lapse. His dry, almost rasping chuckle didn't help my mortification. "Tell me, Sakura-san, what did you realize?" He spoke softly, but there was an edge to the question.

I knew my fate would hinge on how I responded, but despite my best efforts this time my speech was wooden. "You want to discuss Naruto." It was only after I finished speaking that I realize I'd left off the honorific again, but I certainly wasn't going to try to amend my speech while laboring under the piercing gaze of the Hokage. "My phrasing in the second interview implied knowledge that I shouldn't have. You want to know what exactly I know and how."

This time, the smile was not gentle, nor was it reassuring. "You are a bright one, Sakura-san. Just like your brother. Please continue."

I really didn't want to have this conversation yet. I want very badly to go back to the start of the day and try again, doing anything differently I can to not not have this conversation.

Sadly the universe ignored my desperate plea, so I ordered my thoughts and complied with the order that I didn't for a moment believe was optional.

-----

Despite being much shorter than any of the interrogations that came before, I far was more mentally and emotionally exhausted after my conversation with the Sandaime Hokage than I had been from all of the day that had gone before. And I still hadn't yet managed to complete the very thing I had arrived at the academy that morning to do: complete the practical exam. All the other students have clearly gone, but I would be damned before I got through the day without passing.

Presumably Naruto had been permitted to return to the Academy while I was having my quiet chat with a terrifying old man, because on my way into the testing room I passed Naruto. Unexpectedly, he nearly walked past me without noticing me, so full of glee that he was to be wearing the standard Konoha forehead protector. Deciding that I wasn't mean enough to let him pass up this opportunity, I darted a hand out to gently tug at his sleeve before he could completely pass me.

With a clear start Naruto started to drop into a defensive stance (a response I approve of wholeheartedly) before realizing who it is that's accosted him. With another metaphorically blinding grin, he gestured at his forehead with a thumb. "Sakura-chan! Look! Look! I told you I had it nailed!"

Smiling, I nodded. "I always believed you could, Naruto." While not the first time I'd addressed him by personal name rather than family name, it was rare enough that it made his happiness all the brighter. "But please, it is my turn to be tested now."

"Oh! Right, right! I'll see--" Something occurs to him at that point, and I imagined I could almost hear gears briefly grinding before he adopts a worried expression. "Hey, hey, it's pretty late, and you've got a long walk home. Since that ass clearly ain't gonna do it, should I, uh, stick around?"

Is he concerned for me? That's new. Usually he's confident of my ability to do anything, no matter how unreasonable. Is it because of Mizuki-sen-- Is it because of Mizuki?

After a moment of hesitation, I offer him a faint smile. "Thank you, Naruto, but I'll be fine. Presume you will see me tomorrow at team assignments."

He was obviously well practiced at recognizing a dismissal, but I could tell he knew I didn't mean it the same way most did. With a grin and one more thumbed gesture at the shiny metal plate on his head, Naruto turned and walked out of the room.

Exactly how much have I changed, simply by virtue of him having so much more confidence? Could that be why Mizuki jumped the gun?

I had much to think about, but first I had to prove to Iruka-sensei that I was ready for a team.

If there was anything I was certain of, it was this: no matter how much I may have changed, there was no possibility I wouldn't end up on a team with Sasuke and Naruto.

After all, no better teacher for keeping an eye on a jinchuuriki than Kakashi. And who better to teach the last two survivors of the Uchiha?


... I still try not to wonder what happened to Haruno...