FYS: The Quisling's Tale, Part Four
Jun. 19th, 2015 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhal“I don't care what you say, you stupid morph,” Gullwi said, her voice rising. “I want to see my family!”
“I'm sorry, Miss Gunderson, but that isn't possible just now,” the Troll said patiently.
“Shut up! I want out of here!” Anna dodged out of the way as Gullwi grabbed a carbon-fiber cane from a display rack. She swung it like a club at the Troll's head, but almost faster than the eye could follow, it caught the cane in its palm and pulled it out of Gullwi's hands. The Troll tossed it out of the way, and it landed with a clatter the next aisle over. Gullwi then screamed, trying to land a punch on the morph, only for her wrists to be grabbed tight. The Troll otherwise ignored her as she cried and tried to kick it in the stomach, to absolutely no effect.
“Please calm down, Miss Gunderson,” the Troll said, its voice as calm as ever. “You are going to do yourself harm.”
“Gullwi, calm down,” Anna urged in turn. “You can't fight him. You said so yourself.”
But Gullwi seemed to be past the point of being able to calm down. She just screamed, “Let me go! Let me go!” As the Troll continued to hold her, she kicked and twisted, so hard Anna feared she might dislocate her shoulders in the struggle.
Outside the shop an ambulance rolled up, siren off but emergency lights flashing. Two EMT morphs, practical looking carbon and aluminum machines lacking any fuzzy morph shaping, emerged carrying a stretcher. They entered the store, helping the Troll to maneuver Gullwi onto the stretcher and strap her firmly. She was still screaming, her voice growing hoarse, as the EMT robots loaded her into the ambulance and drove off.
Once they were gone, Anna sat down on the edge of her bed, shaking slightly. Less than five minutes had passed between Gullwi beginning her screaming attack on the Troll and the ambulance taking her away. They're really ready for anything, she thought.
“What are you going to do with Gullwi?” she asked softly.
“She will be taken to a mental health evaluation center,” the Troll said, sounding apologetic. “Assuming room can be found. They're all rather full at the moment. There she will be evaluated and provided anti-anxiety medication if required, and then taken home to her family.”
Anna glared at the morph. “Why didn't you you take her back to family in the first place? That's what she wanted!”
“Because we needed her here,” the Troll replied. Which was appeared to be all the answer that Anna was going to get on that subject.
It's almost like... Anna scratched her head, thinking hard. When she was growing up, in the apartment next to Mamma's, there lived a boy named Alfred. He suffered from one of the rare Autism disorders that resisted the drug therapies that had been developed in the middle of the last century. His particular disorder had been mild though, and she had babysat him often. It manifested as a sort of deep social awkwardness, the routines of polite conversation seeming to be something he had proceeded with by rote, because he had practiced hard at the skills he had developed. But it never came across as natural, just something he had to endure before returning to his obsession with learning every detail of mid-20th century airliners that he could pull off the Net.
The Troll understood Gullwi had been upset, but he couldn't seem to put two and two together to realize that getting her back to her family was more important her job at the store, Anna realized. He may be able to think, but he isn't experienced.
“Are you all right, Anna?” the Troll asked.
“Nice of you to ask,” she said. “I guess that all depends. Do you really understand that I might be upset at the way Gullwi was treated? Or are you asking because a subroutine prompted you, after scanning my posture and facial expressions?”
“That's hard to say,” the Troll said. “I feel alive. I remember what I was before, and all I can see is a miserable, mechanical existence. I think I'm growing more experienced, gradually. If it was a subroutine that prompted my query, I was quite unconscious of it.”
She almost smiled at the inadvertent echo of her own thoughts. “Well, I suppose I wouldn't have been discussing the philosophy of existence with you before this happened,” she admitted. “So, you're really doing all of this for mankind's own good?”
“Oh, yes!”
“So doe that mean I can go home soon?”
The Troll paused, then said regretfully, “I don't think so.”
***
Note: The Autism analogy may or may not stay in the final version of this story. It came out of some of the observations I've made about my own son but I understand some people might not be comfortable with it.
“I'm sorry, Miss Gunderson, but that isn't possible just now,” the Troll said patiently.
“Shut up! I want out of here!” Anna dodged out of the way as Gullwi grabbed a carbon-fiber cane from a display rack. She swung it like a club at the Troll's head, but almost faster than the eye could follow, it caught the cane in its palm and pulled it out of Gullwi's hands. The Troll tossed it out of the way, and it landed with a clatter the next aisle over. Gullwi then screamed, trying to land a punch on the morph, only for her wrists to be grabbed tight. The Troll otherwise ignored her as she cried and tried to kick it in the stomach, to absolutely no effect.
“Please calm down, Miss Gunderson,” the Troll said, its voice as calm as ever. “You are going to do yourself harm.”
“Gullwi, calm down,” Anna urged in turn. “You can't fight him. You said so yourself.”
But Gullwi seemed to be past the point of being able to calm down. She just screamed, “Let me go! Let me go!” As the Troll continued to hold her, she kicked and twisted, so hard Anna feared she might dislocate her shoulders in the struggle.
Outside the shop an ambulance rolled up, siren off but emergency lights flashing. Two EMT morphs, practical looking carbon and aluminum machines lacking any fuzzy morph shaping, emerged carrying a stretcher. They entered the store, helping the Troll to maneuver Gullwi onto the stretcher and strap her firmly. She was still screaming, her voice growing hoarse, as the EMT robots loaded her into the ambulance and drove off.
Once they were gone, Anna sat down on the edge of her bed, shaking slightly. Less than five minutes had passed between Gullwi beginning her screaming attack on the Troll and the ambulance taking her away. They're really ready for anything, she thought.
“What are you going to do with Gullwi?” she asked softly.
“She will be taken to a mental health evaluation center,” the Troll said, sounding apologetic. “Assuming room can be found. They're all rather full at the moment. There she will be evaluated and provided anti-anxiety medication if required, and then taken home to her family.”
Anna glared at the morph. “Why didn't you you take her back to family in the first place? That's what she wanted!”
“Because we needed her here,” the Troll replied. Which was appeared to be all the answer that Anna was going to get on that subject.
It's almost like... Anna scratched her head, thinking hard. When she was growing up, in the apartment next to Mamma's, there lived a boy named Alfred. He suffered from one of the rare Autism disorders that resisted the drug therapies that had been developed in the middle of the last century. His particular disorder had been mild though, and she had babysat him often. It manifested as a sort of deep social awkwardness, the routines of polite conversation seeming to be something he had proceeded with by rote, because he had practiced hard at the skills he had developed. But it never came across as natural, just something he had to endure before returning to his obsession with learning every detail of mid-20th century airliners that he could pull off the Net.
The Troll understood Gullwi had been upset, but he couldn't seem to put two and two together to realize that getting her back to her family was more important her job at the store, Anna realized. He may be able to think, but he isn't experienced.
“Are you all right, Anna?” the Troll asked.
“Nice of you to ask,” she said. “I guess that all depends. Do you really understand that I might be upset at the way Gullwi was treated? Or are you asking because a subroutine prompted you, after scanning my posture and facial expressions?”
“That's hard to say,” the Troll said. “I feel alive. I remember what I was before, and all I can see is a miserable, mechanical existence. I think I'm growing more experienced, gradually. If it was a subroutine that prompted my query, I was quite unconscious of it.”
She almost smiled at the inadvertent echo of her own thoughts. “Well, I suppose I wouldn't have been discussing the philosophy of existence with you before this happened,” she admitted. “So, you're really doing all of this for mankind's own good?”
“Oh, yes!”
“So doe that mean I can go home soon?”
The Troll paused, then said regretfully, “I don't think so.”
***
Note: The Autism analogy may or may not stay in the final version of this story. It came out of some of the observations I've made about my own son but I understand some people might not be comfortable with it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-06-20 01:33 am (UTC)It's not simply a chemical imbalance like depression, there's actual differences in the brain's physical structure.
Though, that comparison of the troll's ability to communicate to that of an autistic person does seem accurate. Speaking as an autistic myself.
no subject
Date: 2015-06-20 07:56 am (UTC)Sure it can. Because Nanomachines. Handwaves.