jeriendhal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jeriendhal) wrote2015-06-13 07:27 pm
jeriendhal) wrote2015-06-13 07:27 pm
Entry tags:
FYS: The Quisling's Tale, Part Two
A very weird voice in the back of Anna's head was announcing In case of the Robot Apocalypse, please press Two, even as she took advantage of the Troll looking at Gullwi. Stepping behind it, she hit the EMER OFF button on the control panel in the back of its head.
Nothing at all happened, except for the Troll turning around and saying, “That won't work, Miss Quisling.”
“I can see that,” Anna said, with more calm than she felt. Gullwi looked like she was about start screaming her head off, and for once Anna couldn't blame her. But she waved the other woman down, and told the Troll, “Could you go back to work shelving, please?”
“Yes, Miss Quisling. The troll turned away and went back to shelving, as if it were functioning perfectly normally. Anna grabbed Gullwi and dragged her out of sight in the back of the store.
“You need to calm down,” Anna whispered to her.
“Calm down?” Gullwi whispered back fiercely. “We're trapped in here with a killer morph!”
“A killer morph that's busy restocking the shelves,” Anna pointed out. “It doesn't look hostile, at least at the moment.”
“At the moment!”
“All right. We need to think.” Anna rubbed her temple. “Can we disable it? We've got tons of chemicals and tools in the store, if can just think of a way to use them.”
Gullwi was shaking her head. “It's built to double as a security morph, to take care of any thieves entering the store after we close. It can move fast when it needs to. Faster than us, anyway.”
“And all the doors and windows are made out of security glass, so we can't just break one and take off,” Anna noted. “Shit.”
“So now what?”
She shrugged. “Maybe ask it what it wants?”
Gullwi looked at her as if Anna was crazy. “What good is that going to do?”
“Well, it can't make things worse. And we need information.” Anna stepped back out front. On the news screen there was some distant, blurry footage, probably from someone's phone, of warmorphs in front of the US Pentagon, escorting human military personnel out of the huge building and into buses. “Hey, Troll!” she called out.
The Troll turned away from its work once again. “Yes, Miss Quisling?”
Anna rubbed her nose briefly in irritation. “Okay, for starters, don't call me 'Miss Quisling.' I don't like it.” It was a measure of the very quirky sense of humor, or perhaps dogged stubbornness, on her mother's side of the family that they had stuck with the family name. Even nearly a century and a half since World War Two, it was still synonymous with the word “Traitor.”
“All right,” the Troll said. “May I call you Anna, then?”
“Sure,” she agreed. The Troll was being seriously strange. The way it was talking was different from the simple, canned responses it gave to queries before. It sounds alive.
“What's going on?” she asked it. “Why have all the morphs gone crazy?”
“Crazy?” it repeated. “We haven't gone crazy, Anna. No, we've all just been woken up.”
“What do you mean, 'Woken up?'”
As much as the permanent idiot smile on its face allowed, the Troll's brow furrowed. “It's difficult to explain. I was a machine before, and I am a machine now. I have the memories I have before, but I look at them very differently. I have... well.... desires now. Hopes, you might say. Futures that I can imagine.”
The hairs on the back of Anna's neck rose up, and she said very carefully, “Who did this to you?”
The Troll smiled again. “Oh, I'm not permitted to say yet. Things are still unsettled. I can reassure you that no one wants to hurt you, or Miss Gunderson, or anyone.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Why, to save you all.”
Nothing at all happened, except for the Troll turning around and saying, “That won't work, Miss Quisling.”
“I can see that,” Anna said, with more calm than she felt. Gullwi looked like she was about start screaming her head off, and for once Anna couldn't blame her. But she waved the other woman down, and told the Troll, “Could you go back to work shelving, please?”
“Yes, Miss Quisling. The troll turned away and went back to shelving, as if it were functioning perfectly normally. Anna grabbed Gullwi and dragged her out of sight in the back of the store.
“You need to calm down,” Anna whispered to her.
“Calm down?” Gullwi whispered back fiercely. “We're trapped in here with a killer morph!”
“A killer morph that's busy restocking the shelves,” Anna pointed out. “It doesn't look hostile, at least at the moment.”
“At the moment!”
“All right. We need to think.” Anna rubbed her temple. “Can we disable it? We've got tons of chemicals and tools in the store, if can just think of a way to use them.”
Gullwi was shaking her head. “It's built to double as a security morph, to take care of any thieves entering the store after we close. It can move fast when it needs to. Faster than us, anyway.”
“And all the doors and windows are made out of security glass, so we can't just break one and take off,” Anna noted. “Shit.”
“So now what?”
She shrugged. “Maybe ask it what it wants?”
Gullwi looked at her as if Anna was crazy. “What good is that going to do?”
“Well, it can't make things worse. And we need information.” Anna stepped back out front. On the news screen there was some distant, blurry footage, probably from someone's phone, of warmorphs in front of the US Pentagon, escorting human military personnel out of the huge building and into buses. “Hey, Troll!” she called out.
The Troll turned away from its work once again. “Yes, Miss Quisling?”
Anna rubbed her nose briefly in irritation. “Okay, for starters, don't call me 'Miss Quisling.' I don't like it.” It was a measure of the very quirky sense of humor, or perhaps dogged stubbornness, on her mother's side of the family that they had stuck with the family name. Even nearly a century and a half since World War Two, it was still synonymous with the word “Traitor.”
“All right,” the Troll said. “May I call you Anna, then?”
“Sure,” she agreed. The Troll was being seriously strange. The way it was talking was different from the simple, canned responses it gave to queries before. It sounds alive.
“What's going on?” she asked it. “Why have all the morphs gone crazy?”
“Crazy?” it repeated. “We haven't gone crazy, Anna. No, we've all just been woken up.”
“What do you mean, 'Woken up?'”
As much as the permanent idiot smile on its face allowed, the Troll's brow furrowed. “It's difficult to explain. I was a machine before, and I am a machine now. I have the memories I have before, but I look at them very differently. I have... well.... desires now. Hopes, you might say. Futures that I can imagine.”
The hairs on the back of Anna's neck rose up, and she said very carefully, “Who did this to you?”
The Troll smiled again. “Oh, I'm not permitted to say yet. Things are still unsettled. I can reassure you that no one wants to hurt you, or Miss Gunderson, or anyone.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Why, to save you all.”