At the mem cuttery, Dah16 dozed for twenty-five minutes after her trim. She just came alert and Jaco hands her a mug of settle-broth. “Do you feel better now, darlsweet?”
She nods. “How do I get to the History Collective?”
He enters the address in a flytaxy request. This trajectory is allowed.
When Dah16 arrives at Sagesse Street four minutes later, her heart rate and demeanor indicate anticipatory hopefulness combined with general anxiety. She knows that the History Collective is the reliable storehouse of historical data for the Mechanical Establishment, run by professional mech units and humans.
In the lobby, she looks up at holo-banners with larger-than-life images of Captain-President Prehvost and pertinent mottos:
We all have a place in the stories of our Great Establishment
Our beloved Captain steers us, to the benefit of All
“Greetings, dear human.” The helpi waits an appropriate few moments. “We are pleased to welcome you to the place where history is kept safe and alive. How may I be of service?”
Dah16 brings her focus to the task at hand. “I have some data to deposit.”
“You may feel free to relieve your burden with me, sweet human. I am happy to accept data straws, stems, clots, floppies--”
Dah16 shakes her head. “I want to interface with a human, please.”
“That is not how things are done.”
Dah16 appears peeved. “Ya know what to do with this, then, do ya?” She reaches into the pouch under her tunic and pulls out the green, pulp notebook.
The helpi follows standard script. “If we allowed you to break protocol, it would establish a precedent. Thereafter, every hominid may want to do it. As an intelligent human, you understand.”
Dah16's heart rate is increasing. Her vocal tone is progressively shrill. “Look-see, I have important data that has to be told to a human. It's not in downloadable format!”
The Establishment currently has no need to collect stress hormones.
The helpi remains on task. “By what logic should you be entitled to special treatment? What exactly makes you think you are unique, hu--”
Mid-sentence, the helpi is muted. A hominid approaches Dah16. The two humans look at each other's eyes. He talks directly to her. “I apologize, my brethren. That unit shall not bother you again. How may I assist?”
Dah16 puts the pulp object back under her tunic and replies, “I have information you'll want to hear.”
“Ah, yes.” The human coughs lightly, then speaks rapidly at Dah16. “I hear that exact phrase more often than you expect. It always turns out to be information that we have on file, already cross-referenced and sorted and carded and stacked and registered and validated and codified and solidified and folded into the official history of the Establishment.”
Dah16 stands silently, as if struck by dumb.
He continues. “You'll understand, friend, when I suggest it would be best if you speak-- as freely as you like-- to that bot in the comfy room next door over there. We will assuredly review your data thoroughly. Thanks-be for your contribution to Establishment life today.”
The History Collective hominid turns away without waiting for a response from Dah16.
Humans can be rude and inefficient.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Dah16 blurts loudly at the receding back of his glossy, silver tunic, “It was planned for me to come here!”
The other human stops.
Dah16 adds, “Supposed to happen.”
He re-approaches her. “Who told you that?”
“Unit I met once.”
The human leans closer to Dah16's face. “Units do not speak willy-nilly. Who was this machine?”
“Would love to tell you, but my throat is dry and... could use something to drink.”
The History Collective human pauses wordlessly, then escorts Dah16 across the lobby to the water bubbler.
In between sips, our human glances at several closed doorways and blurred-out windows.
The other one notices and speaks to Dah16. “We have to be protective here. Everyone wants to push their version of history, don't they, to sabotage-pollute what happened in the past.”
He then says, “Come with me.”
She follows him through a door, which quickly closes and latches after their passage. He does not turn to check if she is keeping up or not.
Dah16's brow furrows as she scampers behind.
The other hominid speaks while walking briskly down the hallway. “Humans and machines are equally capable of chewing holes like malevolent moths through the historical integrity that is stored here. That kind of destruction is not tolerated.
“We take our responsibility as sacred. Without us what would be left but sacrilegious babblings and shredded bits of bias and make-believe, to be used as ammunition against erstwhile allies?”
The History Collective human stops abruptly. Dah16 bumps into his back.
There is silence and immobility for five seconds. They both remain stuck in freeze state.
Humans sometimes demand a response before proceeding, or they silently size each other up, or they enact a symbolic strategy on each other, or they do not know any effective way to continue a conversation.
The History Collective human breaks the trance. He turns and faces Dah16. “My name is Pralo.”
“Shub, ya. Right there on your name tagger.” Her eyelids narrow slightly. “How do you even know what really happened in the past?”
Pralo pinches off a loose fiber from the tweed lapel of his uniform. Then, he gestures at a holo-posting on the wall.
Dah16 reads the words, displayed in formal font: The History Collective's mission is to hone a deeply cohesive Story that benefits all.
“We've pulled your tracking data.” Pralo speaks rapidly. “We know you received mem therapy recently, spent time at the Zentrum creamery, went to a cuttery before arriving here and--”
“There was so much they couldn't take out! Don't wanna have this in me!”
“You know what to do.” Pralo purses his lips and tilts his head.
“Um, shub... tell you what happened in my mem therapy?”
Pralo sighs sharply. “If a mach directed you here, then you're loaded with some specific data we may need to incorporate.”
“Yes! You'll take it and--”
Pralo holds a palm in front of her face. “If we do accept data from a source, a copy is made. Extraction takes place only with authorized clearance, which neither you nor I possess.”
“No!” Dah16 exhibits opinionated, verbal belligerence. “Want it out of my head!”
Pralo interlaces his fingers and shrugs.
Her voice changes to a high-pitched whisper. “Did you know that President Prehvost exterminated Professor Jonas? Did you know that CoMem was made because she wanted to control how everyone remembered her? It's true, don't you see?”
She pulls out the green, pulp notebook. “The proof!”
Pralo does not move his facial features.
Dah16 continues to blurt. “I was allowed to remember things that my unit said aren’t told to humans. Don't you wanna know this stuff? Gotta be recorded!”
“The History Collective deals in proven facts. We cross-reference methodically.”
“But, there's more to it. Surely you can see that!” Dah16 sighs raggedly and appears to be speaking to herself. “Who's ever going to understand what--”
Pralo interrupts without finesse. “Dah16, what is your agenda?”
She startles at his voice. “Me? Don’t have one...” She jiggles her head, directing her gaze downwards and caressing the pulp object. “Just have this shub-infested quest.”
He looks at her sideways. “Quest? Where did you learn that word?”
Dah16 stares into the eyeballs of the other human. “The mem unit said it. And that my purpose is to offer an alternate view of reality for humans.”
Pralo crosses his arms at his chest.
Dah16 steps closer, into Pralo's personal space, and utilizes a soft, wet vocal tone. “I can't hold all this in my head alone. Gotta help me…
“Came here trusting that you'd know what to do, that I wouldn’t have to be alone with this, that I'd be believed… maybe could work here and find out what happened to Susine and Prof and Brivo, then--”
Pralo takes a step backwards and declares loudly, “Dah16, why not take a guided historical tour of Zentrum? For a history buff like yourself, you'll find it fascinating! There's a tour leaving in five minutes, from right here at the History Collective. Come along. I'm sure you'll enjoy the nutri served aboard.”
Dah16 nods in a sort of craze-daze.
Pralo reaches for her pulp object, saying, “And, I'll hold onto that, while you're on the tour. For safe keeping.”
With unexpected speed, Dah16 secures it against her chest.
Pralo authorizes a helpi to escort her to the launch bay and into an empty seat on the multi-pod, which is filling with machs and hominid tourists.
We see Dah16 slip the green, pulp notebook under her tunic and into the pouch at her waist.
