Parraligne had already been waiting for many Tiks. Arriving at the laboratories of Desstek Incorporation, a subsidiary of Neru-teque, he had learned that the personality he was supposed to escort had still not arrived. So, he had waited, rereading his mission orders, without learning much more. If he didn't even know the threats he might face, how could he properly defend his target?
At the same time, the orders he had received recently seemed unusual, as if
The door opened automatically, allowing two brand new combat robots to pass through. They were preceded by a tiny creature sitting on a floating seat. The device, overloaded with exceptionally thick computers, was a veritable moving office. Seeing that she had arrived, the creature jumped off nimbly and the office continued to follow her as she entered deeper into the building without seeming to be interested in the Vermilion.
However, he stared at her. She was a Xerinean, as small as a Hom child. Her head was equipped with long ears that doubled or tripled their volume and her skin was a very light green. But the most important detail was the indication of her identity: this was the person he was to escort.
“Madame Xini of the Xolot clan? I am the Vermilion Parraligne. I am in charge...”
“Yes,” she cut him off with a contemptuous gesture, “I know, I know. Your eyes may be full of sensors and computers, but I also have the means to verify the identities of those I meet.”
“An implanted computer?”
“What? Tsk, it's good for inf… I mean people with a less voluminous and fragile cervical mass. Members of my species generally avoid implanting anything in their heads: it would bring too much risk to our higher cognition. And also, I would ask you to call me Miss. I know that the universal administrative language has removed this term from the official lists, but it exists in my language and I would therefore be grateful if you would use the equivalent when you address me. I could quite easily note such a mark of disrespect in a report to your superiors, did I make myself clear?”
This kind of threat had no effect on the Vermilions. As devoted servants of the Administration, willingly sacrificing
“Understood, Miss Xini of the Xolot clan.”
Satisfied after her little display of authority, the little creature continued on her way and he followed her like a good professional. The Vermilions were not supposed to have feelings unrelated to their duties, but he still found the little creature extremely unpleasant. It was surprising, so he launched a diagnosis of his emotions.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Well, the source of the distrust was unclear. Perhaps he had heard rumors about this person? Or did her contempt place her in the category of people potentially dangerous to the values of the Administration? He had no idea. In any case, his system seemed to work better than…
Yes, everything was fine.
The following days were not particularly exciting. Xini only let him enter the first part of her laboratory and strictly forbade him from approaching the second. The room where he was locked up all day, and sometimes at night too, was more of a warehouse than a laboratory: it was where the packages containing the devices and spare parts needed for the little scientist's mysterious project were deposited.
For the sake of his conscience, Parraligne scanned each arrival. His extremely sophisticated devices gave him the complete composition of each package, down to the smallest part. That taught him nothing.
To pass the time, he connected to the Vermilions' secure network. While his senses continued to stand guard, his mind explored a vast horizon of virtual data. The Vermilions' network was certainly one of the most secure in the universe, even more so than those developed by the Zcarbbs despite their technological advance. No one could access this information except the faithful cyborgs. There, he could access the most complete databases on all subjects, including some secret files. He could also consult the cameras, both public and private, or hack any device without its origin being traceable.
There were also meeting places where Vermilions on solitary missions could share their experiences in the hope of obtaining or providing help. Of course, in this dematerialized universe, no one had a form and not all provided their real identity. Even the cyborgs appreciated a minimum of anonymity... although they did not act the same towards citizens... for their own safety, of course...
The irony of the situation seemed strangely clear to him. Here, he did not know why, his mind was appeased. Perhaps this place, with its permanence, seemed more real to him than reality? More real than his body that could be destroyed and rebuilt at will?
His doubts were materializing more easily, but were they even legitimate? He confided his fears to one of his anonymous colleagues.
“Anyway,” he concluded, “I really feel like I've been malfunctioning since I woke up.”
“Oh... It's not you who's not working well: the entire system is...”
“What? What are you talking about? Not the Administration, doesn’t you?”
“Let's be realistic: perfection doesn't exist. The only question that can call into question our loyalty is to wonder if the system is deteriorating because of the reforms, or if its excesses are necessary for our survival. As Vermeil, we have to obey without question, in the service of the Laws of the Administration...”
“Yes... Yes... Of course...”
“And I'm not sure that asking questions is currently prohibited by law, is it? Maybe you're a little buggy. Your memory is failing, but I am sure that you will remember what is needed at the right time. Follow your instincts a little more and stop trusting your programs.”
“Ah… but… it could also be worse! And then how can you be sure that my memory will return at the right time? It is not logical!”
But his mysterious interlocutor was already no longer present.