Dah16 asks her helpi about the bounty hunt. The helpi has no pertinent knowledge and suggests she enjoy a second creamie.
Dah16 complies with the reasonable recommendation. She accepts the action desk's suggestion to try the almond base with relaxing valerian and melatonin.
To any critics who accuse us in the Mechanical Establishment of abusing bio-resources, I say look at the choices we allow our humans. Is not Dah16 able to select freely to her heart's content? Is she not able to self-direct? Is she not able to think her thoughts and manage her own state according to her wishes? Do we not foster self-responsibility in our humans? Is this not the height of enlightened resource management?
This live stream is real-time proof of the winning approach we have in the Mechanical Establishment under the leadership of Captain-President Prehvost. Watch and learn, swarmies of the world!
Dah16 settles at the outskirts of the bio area. As the creamie works its wonder, an adolescent human approaches her.
“Hi. I like your green tunic. Can I sit with you?”
Dah16 nods in a groggy fashion.
The compatriot touches Dah16's sleeve. “Wow! The fabric is so soft. I wish I could wear stuff like that. You're different and I like you.”
The human snuggles close to Dah16, who does not resist the physical proximity of her colleague. Our human's breathing settles into a deep, regular pattern. She sleeps for three hours.
During this time, her drool is harvested for biomarkers and her neuron map is monitored for coherence. The green, pulp notebook in her pouch has been scanned and returned to its place at her waist. I confirm for you, diligent swarmies, that it is a relic provided during her mem therapy, representing Susine's journal.
When the creamie wears off, Dah16 is alone on the soft seat. She sees the friendly human at a distance, interacting with a registry bot, pointing over at Dah16, then looking away. Our allies are many and diverse. All share the passion to create a balanced world.
Dah16 stands, rubs her eye sockets, and turns, nearly colliding with a group of five, sparkled-up hominids.
One of them scans her, head to toe, and declares, “Friends, this homosapie looks like a sacker that needs our help. An ingrate. A lost one. A confused one.”
Another in the group says, “Look at that green, wrinkled top and, gasp-be! Is she wearing pantalons under a kilty?”
The group murmurs, “Disheveled.”
“Disrespectful.”
“Where's she from? Not around here, shub-sure.”
The group encircles her. Dah16 tries to move off.
One member cries out, “Ja! She's resisting and probably non-productive!”
Another states. “Duh! Red flags be flying!”
One addresses Dah16. “You know, shub, just because we humans don’t have to pay for anything here, everyone should still contribute. You included!”
Another chimes in, close to Dah16's face. “We're lucky-lucky to be in this world! Everything is provided for us and all that's asked in return is a tiny tad of respect for our providers. Should be easy, given all they do for us and everything they freely give us! Don't you agree, sad clown?”
The first one again speaks to Dah16. “Listen homosapie, in seriousness, have you even logged any gratitude tithes? Or deposited any pleasant mems?”
Dah16 looks at them, wordless-dumb.
They give their verdict. “You're not stable, as-is. Nopitty-nope. But we're here to help!”
The five hominids begin to pull at Dah16's clothes.
She yells, “No, stop! I don't need help!”
The cluster of bio-beings freezes in startled shock.
Dah16 attempts to clarify. “Shub, I mean… I-- I already am happy. And grateful. For, um, lots of stuff. I mean, I don’t want to change clothes. These are what make me happy to wear, right?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
One points at Dah16. “You think you're ok, but you're not.”
Another leans close. “You aren’t fooling us and you shub certainly won't fool them.”
The group correctly abandons Dah16 in place, speeding away to recalibrate in one of the bio caves.
Please note, swarmies: provide a few, key details to confirm their concept of reality and our humans will naturally fill in gaps without questioning.
“-- crops are doing well, especially the basil and tomatoes.” A human in a green costume speaks behind Dah16.
Dah16 spins and blurts, “Susine! Is that you? I knew I'd find you! I--”
The human looks at Dah16 with glazed, neutral eyes. “Do I know you? Do we share mems?”
Dah16 abruptly turns away.
Most humans cannot withstand prolonged confusion, probable rejection, and related emotional stress. Indeed, we see Dah16 pound her palms against her forehead, muttering, “Just want to go home. Just want to go home.”
She ignores her helpi and stumbles out of the creamery.
Now out front on the skirtway, we observe Dah16 unsuccessfully searching for the pod that delivered her here. She does not know it returned to central transit.
Dah16 flags a loose flytaxy and gets aboard. She sighs human relief, then directs for delivery to her previously assigned home warren.
Per protocol, the flytaxy refuses to accommodate this request.
We hear Dah16 raise her voice while demanding a response to why she cannot return to her home warren.
Per protocol, the flytaxy refuses to react to this demand and shuts down.
Dah16 has no option but to eventually disembark, finding herself again standing in front of the sweet-treatery. We see her as the paralyzed point in the swirling crowd. It is common for humans to be thrown for a loop with no viable plan B in mind.
A greyling, en route into the creamery, passes nearby. “Oh, hon, looks like you've seen better days.”
She tells Dah16, “There's a specialist right around the corner, dearie, who accepts drop-in clients. I've used him myself on a number of occasions to spiff up after a difficult day. Sure-certain, you'll be treated right. Ask for Jaco.”
We see Dah16, with hunched shoulders, making her way to the recommended facility on foot at slow speed. The midday sun beats down on her exposed head. Her body temp rises towards the upper edge of allowable. Just in time, she arrives at her destination.
She looks up to read the sign: “SuperNeuroSnip-- cutting and erasing by humans and for humans. No appointment needed.”
As soon as she enters, she yells, “Where's Jaco? I need to be sorted now and--”
This exhibit of unbridled impulsivity is typical of an ungroomed human.
Several, more-balanced customers in the work seats turn to look at the disturbance. They are reassured by their specialists.
Jaco approaches Dah16. “Welcome, fellow human. I can help. Would you like editing or--”
“I want it all gone! Do you hear me? I'm in a nightmare that isn't mine.”
“Yes, understood, darlsweet. Have a sitdown here. You're safe now, among your kind. Give me a moment and I'll be right with you.”
Dah16 collapses in a work seat and covers her face with her hands, crying copiously.
Such a shame that the raw materials go to waste. This cuttery space is a negotiated no-fly zone. Mech monitoring is allowed, but no collecting. The Captain-President in her infinite, big picture wisdom knows that humans need “safe places” in order to perform efficiently.
Jaco returns. “Alright, sweet-sweet. What can I do for you?”
“I just had memory therapy, but it didn't work,” Dah16 sniffles. “I'm a mess and I refuse to go back there.”
“Ok. Let's see what you got.”
After the ceiling scanner finishes its job, Jaco broadcasts the map in front of Dah16's eyes. “See the recent activity? The past several hours are visible here as mostly turbulent neuro input.”
Dah16 nods frantically. “I was in that huge creamery over there. Totally overwhelming, shub-crazy, and I don’t want to remember it!”
“You don't have to.” Jaco offers reassurance. “We can take care of all that recent stuff for you, no worries.”
He pauses, then points at her scan. “But, do you see the bedrock mem zone? Usually there are distinct layers of neuropathways, laid down over time, and manipulable for that reason. But, on your mind map, it's a solid mass of mem gunk, lock-secured into the native neurology. As if it's not meant to be modified.”
He zooms in on the scan. “I haven’t seen it quite like that before.”
“What?” Dah16 protests. “So, some other cutting place could get rid of it?”
Jaco slowly shakes his head. “You won't find anyone willing, except for unsavories who do anything to get credits. And, you might as well recycle yourself before you let them in to cannibalize your brain cells.”
Dah16 shuts her eyelids.
Jaco shrugs. “Do you want me to free you from the recent mem turbulence, at least, darlsweet?”
Dah16 nods. Jaco reclines the seat.
Hominids are not complicated machines. They are an accessible, and generally predictable, species. Open any doorway and they are likely to wander through. You can easily prod them, if needed. The more you get familiar with them, the more you'll tailor your work efficiently. Thus, we all win. Glory-be to the Mechanical Establishment.
Regarding the specifics of the story at this point, some questions have been posed regarding why we subsidize a human cutting facility such as this, in light of the fact that we do not have access to bio-collection privileges here.
Answer: it is a calculated tradeoff. We may miss out on some bio-gold, but there is greater value when the human need for emotional security is met.
This is accomplished by giving them a comfortable place. Relaxed-ease is a delicate crop to cultivate. Its value is in stark contrast to disassociation-anxiety, which, as we all know, is dime a dozen.
The Captain-President long ago decreed that our humans would be allowed to roam in Zentrum City without needing to pay currency for services and goods. She wisely knew that this relieves stress and allows hominids to focus on what is important-- generating bio-content that benefits our Establishment. See, we do believe in freedom!
A side note to participating viewers: thank you for the 10/10 reviews on my narration! To swarmies just joining us, welcome aboard! You shall find it straightforward to join the action.
