Synth

If synths were repurposed down in Recovery, it wasn’t in the same location that TO and E45 had gone to. The synths they were watching today were dealing with old uniforms in Fabric recovery. Before now that wasn’t anything that TO had ever really thought about; Where did their old uniforms go when they were too worn out or too damaged to be simply cleaned? Apparently, uniforms like that came here, to Fabric Recovery, to be salvaged.

Their uniform from the day they nearly got sucked out into space had likely gone though here. Probably the one they wore when they were working in Maintenance as well.

When they entered Fabric Recovery, they were met with the sight of perhaps fifty synths sitting at long tables. Each synth had a set of tools before them, a bin filled with old uniforms on one side, and a bin full of scraps on the other. They were working to pull the small metal pieces and clasps from the fabric, and to meticulously undo the reinforced seams with tiny blades. When they were done with their work they threw the remaining fabric in the scrap bin.

“Well.” E45 said as the two of them watched the other synths work, “What do you notice.”

“Well.” TO said quietly, “They didn’t look up when we entered; they’re very intent on their tasks. They’re very focused.” They frowned, “But I don’t think any of them have been corrected.”

“How do you know that?” E45 asked, and even though E45 normally kept the same tone, and even though their ears hardly moved, TO could pick up the slightest hint of surprise in their voice. It was similar to when they had impressed PQ03 with their powers of observation back in the Production Lab.

“I had to work in maintenance once early in my training.” TO said, their ears flicking down as they recalled that the assignment had been a punishment. “Corrected synths don’t have long attention spans, and they can be rather clumsy. This doesn’t seem like a job that can be done with corrected synths.”

“That’s right. What else?”

TO frowned as they walked around to get a better look at the other synths. One thing that they noticed was a discoloration around their joints; a slightly bluer tone while the rest of them seemed pale and ashy. The outer edges of their ears had odd little folds in them, and there were wrinkles well worn into their hands. “They’re older.” TO finally said; all those things were signs of age in a synth. “All of them are older; as far as I can see anyway.” they frowned and then turned to E45, “Is this perhaps a job given to older synths who can’t perform more intense physical labour?”

“Correct.” E45 said, their ears quirking up slightly, “Well, mostly correct. Very well done. Synths who work in this section of recovery are generally older; that is, their physical abilities have diminished. These are also synths who don’t happen to possess the mental capacity for higher level, sedentary jobs.”

TO took a step forward, and finally one of the synths glanced up for only a moment before they focused back on their work. Still, TO caught a glimpse of their aged face, their thinned lips, and their eyes which seemed so much smaller with the way that the skin around their eyes wrinkled.

TO turned back to E45, “I don’t recall reading about the advanced age of the workers here.”

“Their age is irrelevant. Their ability to function is more pressing. There’s synths out in the galaxy who are older, but still work in combat because they still have physical powers that can be used.” They gestured to a nearby synths and TO noticed suddenly that the synths E43 was pointing at was missing several fingers on one hand. “Some of the synths here were injured, and their performance up until that point didn’t justify reconstructive procedures. As such, they were sent here.”

It occurred to TO that if C12 hadn’t become a Retiree, then they’d be down here as well.

“You read over all their files?” E45 asked.

“Yes, Officer,”

“Good. we’ll observe the ones I’ve flagged to see what the issues are.”

======

“Please, sit down.” TO said as the fifth synth of the day came into the small storage room that E45 had commandeered as an office. The older synth nodded –or at least TO thought that they nodded as they were shaking slightly all over– and then sat down.

“You are... FR43?” TO said as they cleared their voice. They weren’t used to this; acting like an officer. They hadn’t expected to be the one doing interviews once E45 said that an interview with each synth they observed was part of the process. E45 had done the first one, and that had been the most complex so far; the synth in question had been sluggish, and seemed to have more trouble focusing than the others. A quick interview determined a lack of sleep being the problem and E45 made a note for a mild sedative to be put in their last meal of each day.

After that, TO was doing the interviews. The next three synths had issues with their tools; they hadn’t been maintained as they should have been. The synths in question were given new tools, but had faced disciplinary action for failing to turn their tools in for examination.

E45 had given them their punishment; during their rest and recreation time they had to spend at least an hour a day working on repairing the tools they had worn down. It seemed to be a fair punishment to TO.

This last synth was going to be more problematic than the others though; that’s why TO had chosen to speak to them last. They had hoped that if they had some practice with the easier cases then they’d be more confident by the time they got to a challenging problem.

TO did not feel more confident.

Still... They were doing their best to mimic the way that the Commander and their own Overseer had spoken to them.

FR43 tilted their shaking head, squinting at TO through cloudy eyes, “You’re not an officer.” They said in their raspy voice.

“09T07 is a promising trainee doing specialized vocational training.” E45 said, “You’ll afford them the same respect and obedience you’d give to myself for the time.”

FR43 put their head down, “Of course, Officer.” They reached up and touched the badge on their thin, yellow uniform, “Yes, I am FR43.”

TO felt their ears burn as they looked suddenly back to their notes; they kept forgetting to just look at the badges. “Right. Well.” they cleared their throat, “You’ve been brought in for an interview due to underperformance in your placement.” TO hated how recited their words sounded. Honestly, it was recited –it was the way that E45 started their first interview today– but TO wanted to sound as natural and as easy at this as E45 did.

They glanced up from their notes and to FR43 as they took in their frail form. TO could see them idly clenching and unclenching their fists, a gesture that might have been considered a result of nervousness if TO hadn’t observed them stopping their work and doing the same thing over and over.

“You tend to stop a lot.” TO finally said, “You stop to rub your hands?”

“Yes Off- Pardon me.” They glanced up questioningly at the Officer, “09T07?” E45 nodded, but said nothing in return. “Yes.” FR43 continued, “Many of us do. Working with such small tools all day can cause some pain and stiffness.”

“I know.” TO said as their ears drooped back a little; they had almost felt the pain themself as they had watched the work, and felt nothing but sympathy for FR43’s hands. There was still a problem though, “I did note that you did it a lot more. Most synths around you stopped maybe every hour or so. You stopped every fifteen minutes.”

FR43 glanced away, their ears flicking down with shame, “My apologies. My hands hurt a lot” They looked back at TO and held up their hands, “They’re always shaking, so it’s harder for me to grip my tools. I grip them more firmly, but that makes them hurt more.”

TO nodded, “I see.” they said, “Now... What started first? Did the shaking start first, or did your eyesight start to fade first?”

FR43 blinked at TO, “I never reported-”

“I can see your eyes.” TO said softly, “They’re cloudy. I don’t have medical training but that’s a sign of some ocular issues. Your performance started to dip a few cycles ago, but you were still over your targets, so it wasn’t flagged.” they looked back at their notes, “But then just a few spans ago it suddenly got much worse.”

FR43 nodded, their wings wrapping around their arms, “Yes... Yes, I noticed the cloudiness in my eyes a long time ago. It happened slowly, so I did not notice at first, and when it got worse I thought that maybe my eyes were just strained.

“And you didn’t think to go to medical?” TO asked.

“I didn’t think it was necessary.”

Right. At their age if their eyesight was going then TO didn’t know if they’d qualify for treatment.

“That happened first, I suppose?”

“Well… My hands have been shaking for a while as well.” they admitted, “But in the last few spans, it suddenly felt as though everything has been getting worse.”

“You’ve been here for a while, right?” It was a pointless question, but TO didn’t know what else to say to a synth whose body seemed like it was suddenly falling apart.

“I have.” FR43 said, “I’ve been here for the last forty cycles.”

“Right. And your performance has been good all that time, with no noticeable dips until now.”

“I have always worked my very best for King Decon.” FR43 said with their ears perking up with pride, “I was placed here not because my work was failing in combat, but because of injury.”

“Is that so?” TO asked.

“Yes.” they said, “As soon as I was done with my training and my placement, I was assigned to the front lines.”

“Ground combat?” TO ventured.

“Correct, though I was made a troop leader. I quelled a potential uprising among insurgent miners in my youth, and the mortality rate of my soldiers was always lower than other troops in my squadron.”

“Were you in combat for a long time then?” TO asked. One thing they hated was how information from previous assignments hadn’t been given to them.

“One-hundred and four cycles.” FR43 said.

TO’s eyes widened as their ears pinned back in surprise. If they had been in recovery for the last forty cycles, and in training for one, then depending on how long their placement had been...

“You’ve been out of the tank for nearly one-hundred and fifty cycles!”

“Correct.” They said, their voice once again filled with pride as they puffed out their slightly shaking chest, “And I’ve been giving every moment of that long life to King Decon.” They glanced aside, “I could have served in combat for longer too, if need be. I might have died in combat for King Decon.”

“An admirable goal, but you’re continuing to serve Him now.” E45 added. FR43 nodded and dipped their head.

“Yes, Officer.”

“Why were you taken from combat?” TO asked. In response, FR43 pointed to their ears.

“I was caught in an enemy ultrasonic blast in combat, and it broke something in my ears. Unfortunately, it wasn’t corrected. I lose my balance quite often, so I have to sit when I work.”

TO nodded, “Well.” they said, “I believe that your dip in performance is clearly a medical issue. You should report to the Medical Bay immediately, and-”

“Please... Please no.” FR43 said as they leaned forward, their hands clasping together on the desk “I’ll work harder.” they pleaded, “I’ll work later if I have to, just to keep up”

TO frowned, “ YOu don’t want to go? There might be limited things they could do for your eyes, but if there’s a simple fix then given your service maybe you’ll be given treatment. Maybe you’ll be given something for the pain as well.”

“Please, there’s no need.” FR43 said, “I’m still fit! I can still work. Please don’t send me to the Medical Bay.”

TO frowned as they tilted their head at the older synth, “Why don’t you want to go? It’s not a punishment; it’s to help you.”

FR43 shook their head and sat back in their seat with their ears tilted slightly down and their wings wrapped around them. “Maybe… if I was younger, then they’d help me. That’s…” They looked up, this time at the Officer and not to TO, “That’s why I didn’t go to medical. I know I’m just old. I know that i’m going to get worse. I know that as soon as they fix my eyes or my hands then something else will come up. I know that, but even so I still have a lot to give to King Decon! I’m not ready to stop serving Him yet!”

TO had never heard such passion from a normal synth before. Well, not unless one counted the lamentations from when all the trainees witnessed the attempted assassination on King Decon. It seemed that the only thing normal synths really got passionate about was King Decon.

E45 cleared their throat, “I understand and admire your desire to keep serving King Decon, regardless of your clearly enfeebled state.” they said, “But at a certain point, you have to balance the value of your organs and your physical body to the value of your work.”

Color drained from the already pale face of FR43, “I… I can keep working, and when I can’t work any more, then I’ll be more than happy to be repurposed to suit King Decon’s needs.”

TO froze. Repurposed? Was that what was going to happen to FR43? Because they were old and they couldn’t work like they used to they’d just be repurposed? They knew that there were limited things that could be done for an older synth, but still!

“You must be practical though.” E45 said calmly, “If you keep working you’ll just do more damage to your body. Less and less of your remains will be easily used to help other synths. At the same time, the efficiency and quality of your work will continue to fall”

FR43 looked away, glancing at TO for just a moment before focusing on the ground.

“Go to Medical.” E45 said, “They’ll examine you. If they think it’s in King Decon’s best interest to treat your issues and send you back to work then that’s what they’ll do.”

“Otherwise... They’ll repurpose me.”

“They will.” E45 said, “but consider this; if you are repurposed while more of your organs and various parts are still useful, then those parts can be used to ensure that younger, exceptional synths are kept productive. In truth, this will be a way to keep serving King Decon for an entire lifetime more. Really, You’ll still be serving King Decon, just you won’t be conscious of it.”

That wouldn’t have calmed TO, but somehow it seemed to calm FR43. Their ears relaxed and their wings loosened around them. They looked at E45.

“I have served King Decon for a long time” they said, “Is He pleased with my work? Did I do well?”

“You have been allowed to serve him for many cycles.” E45 said, “You have carried the honor of your service for a long time, so yes; I’d say you did very well.”

Their ears perked up slightly. They nodded, and got up.

“Very well.” They said, “I will report to medical-”

“Do you have anything to do before that?” TO asked, suddenly feeling their heart jump into their throat. Was FR43 going to be sent off to be repurposed–

–Ribs cracking. The smell of disinfectant. A blade through skin–

–without anyone knowing? Were they really just going to be pulled from their workday and sent off?”

FR43 tilted their head at TO, curiosity causing their ears to flick out, “No, I don't think so.” They turned to E45, “Should I finish my workday?”

“That won’t be necessary.” E45 said.

“I mean, is there anyone you want to see before you go?”

FR43 was quiet for a moment, then gave a smile, “I always hoped that I’d meet King Decon in person on day.” they said, “I thought if I served well and worked hard in combat, then maybe I would. When I was removed from the front lines and sent here, I thought I’d never get to meet Him. Still, I worked hard hoping that I’d see Him one day.” They glanced back at E45, “Maybe whoever receives the good parts of me might receive that honor instead.”

“There’s every chance that you might assist some young synth who is part of the Vanguard.” E45 offered, “Then not only would you meet Him, but you’d be serving Him in His very presence every day.”

A smile, a shaking nod of the head, and then FR43 turned and left to report to the Medical Bay as they had been instructed.