Chapter Text
The factory loomed, large and still, the glut of its kilns, casts, and conveyor belts just shadows in the gloom.
One would expect an echo. Ayda Mensah certainly did, as she and the group of seven made their way deeper into the factory. But the scale was so huge that the sounds simply seemed to get lost, somehow.
“Well,” said Mx. Trailing, the aid from the governmental Supply & Provisions Department, “where do we start?”
“We break into two groups,” Ayda said, moving her two hands in a parting motion. The building’s size was intimidating, but she had grown up on a farm, so it didn't do much to slow her down. “We’ll start in the middle and fan out. Take stock of all equipment in the tracking spreadsheet, noting the state everything is in. If anything appears to...”
“... to not meet quality standards,” interjected Mr. Sidmore, professor of law.
“... to not meet quality standards, yes,” agreed Ayda, “note that down as well. We’ll conduct a more thorough investigation once the initial sweep is done. Any questions?”
There were a few, but for the most part, her words were met with nods, murmurs, and gestures of assent among the team. Ayda split them up into two groups, ensuring a balance of skill-sets among them— while the single bot accompanying them, Wonder, went with the second group, both teams had a representative from Policy, Supply Chain, Legal, and (she suppressed a sigh), Security & Defense.
The armed pair of soldiers were overkill, Ayda strongly felt. Of course, she wasn’t under any false impressions that weapons factory seized from an antagonistic company was safe, by any means. She simply didn’t think that any of the hazards presented would be the kind improved by the presence of guns. But the Preservation Alliance Diplomatic Corp had concerns, and after a number of lengthy discussions, Council Member Narith Zjem had come around to their point of view. Zjem had insisted Ayda take the soldiers along as security, just as she had insisted that Ayda spearhead this assignment in the first place.
Letting her breath out, Ayda turned her attention to the present. Her smaller sub-team set to working inspecting the bulk of whatever massive machine lay before them. This really wasn’t her field. All she could contribute was poking at the specifications and data offered by the factory’s feed, but there was little to be found on that front. Either the outgoing AmaSoft employees had scrubbed the details clean before the handover, or else that info had always been restricted, probably as an attempt to hold onto proprietary intelligence. Ludicrous. In the end, all Ayda could glean was that this machinery had something to do with high-energy weapons manufacturing.
“I wouldn’t do that, Madam,” came Lieutenant Officer Ming’s voice.
If that alone wasn't enough to drag Ayda’s attention from out of the feed, Mx. Pin-Lee saying, “I’m just touching, chill out, I’m not going to lose any fingers,” certainly did. Her head snapped around.
The team's attendant junior lawyer was right up against the nearest conveyer belt, running a hand along the inner mechanisms. Gods. Ayda strode forward, hoping to get a handle on the situation.
“It is heavy duty equipment which poses a significant security risk,” Lieutenant Ming pressed, while Mx. Trailing nodded quickly in agreement.
“It’s not on,” protested Pin-Lee, running her hands along the inner rim of the structure’s struts.
Finally close enough, Ayda locked eyes with Pin-Lee, gaze unflinching. Mx. Pin-Lee had started her career, apparently, in habitat construction, but it hadn’t been long until her habit of arguing with practically anyone about basically anything had grabbed the attention of the First Landing law school. Brash, impulsive, and vulgar, Ayda honestly wasn’t sure how she had managed the success that she had... Except, of course, that she was damn good at law, as her performance in the legal battle against AmaSoft had illustrated.
Professor Sidmore was Preservation’s topmost expert on CR contract law, and Pin-Lee was his protégé, which meant Ayda had no choice but to figure out how to work with her. But that didn’t mean she was going to let the would-be lawyer run wild.
Still in a staring match, Ayda sent, [Stop].
[Fine.] Pin-Lee finally looked away, and withdrew her hand— but not before flipping something on the inside of the machine’s inner rung. A new folder suddenly became accessible in the public feed; the equipment’s official designation, serial number, usage instruction, and safety information.
“What?” blinked Mr. Ozarki, another from the Supply & Provisions Department.
“Hidden switch,” Pin-Lee said, smug.
“But— why?” Mr. Ozarki crouched over the rung’s edge, Ayda and and Trailing doing the same. “That is such an utterly dangerous design, I can’t believe—”
“A blueprint like that would never get past approval,” agreed Trailing.
“Not in Preservation, sure,” agreed Pin-Lee. “But anything goes in the CR, especially if it helps hide data from potential spies.” At the group’s many disbelieving expressions, Pin-Lee just shrugged. “I read a lot of cases about corporate manufacturing in the lead up to this. You pick things up.”
Yes. The law student was damn competent. “Thank you, Pin-Lee.” Ayda sighed. “In the future, however, please warn us before touching the equipment.”
Pin-Lee nodded, but Ayda caught her rolling her eyes as the group began to move on.
And so things continued for the next three hours, although thankfully with less theatrics. The two groups examined machine after machine, taking detailed noted on what was— and wasn’t— there. It was dull work, even for Ayda, who had frankly high tolerance levels for such things.
That wasn’t entirely fail, she conceded, as she filled out yet another spreadsheet detailing the molds for combat armour casing. Quadrant counting or collecting field cameras could be boring, but at least it was work she cared about, about something that mattered, and often in an open environment with a breeze on her face. But she simply did not give a flying fuck about weapons manufacturing.
She would have much preferred to be serving on Council Member Zjem’s diplomatic team, helping reassure and integrate the new citizens whose contracts the Preservation Alliance had “won”. If said contracts had been sold to another CR company, the labourers would most likely have a painful future ahead of them, with no idea where they were being sent or what their new positions would be. After a lifetime of hard labor and mistreatment, no doubt these new citizens were going to be wary and mistrustful. Zjem and her colleagues were therefore on a site three hours away from here, reassuring the folks housed there that they were considered full citizens under Preservation law, and entitled to a vast suite of legal protections, and had a great deal of options regarding what happened next.
That was the kind of work where Ayda shined. That was the type of thing that Ayda had gotten into politics for. To help people.
But someone had been needed to lead the factory audit survey, and Ayda was the one with survey experience, never mind that comparing this to ecological research was apples to watermelons.
“I need someone I can trust there,” Council Member Zjem had said, hand on Ayda’s shoulder. So she had said yes. “I’m sure you’ll to wonderfully.”
They broke for lunch, but not before an expedition to find the cafeteria/mess. It was a miserable place, Ayda privately reflected, with a low ceiling, grim lighting, and a sort of slimy smell to it. Despite their surroundings, the group was in high spirits as they unpacked their lunchboxes, chatting about everything from the equipment they’d found, to the books they were reading, or the upcoming Flyball Championships. Ayda listened with half an ear as she devoured her rice balls, surprised by the appetite she’d worked up.
After lunch a few of the more curious team members began poking at the many shelves and drawers in the kitchen area, trying to find if there was anything of interest. They didn’t find much. Like the rest of the factory, it had practically been picked clean. The court ruling had awarded the Preservation Alliance the factory’s infrastructure, nothing else, and AmaSoft employees had been diligent in taking everything they could with them. That had meant weapons, smaller bots, hand-tools, feed interfaces, and evidently, all the canned food and cooking utensils. She was amazed they hadn't taken the sinks with them, too.
Diligent... but only to a point. AmaSoft employees had been rushed in their evacuations. “I found something!” called Sudmir, and sure enough, a whole two cabinets at the back of the kitchen had been missed. And so, the group found themselves with a dessert course of assorted Corporation Rim snacks, ones with names like, ‘PlurpBerry Fizzle’, ‘Mighty Man’s Mega Meat’, and the ‘Authentic Noodle Ball(TM)’.
Ayda tried the PlurpBerry Fizzle. It... certainly fizzled.
In short order, the group was laughing, gasping, downing big chugs of water, and protesting, “No, seriously, this one is good, try it!” Ayda gave them an extra five minutes to enjoy themselves. But they had a schedule to keep, so finally she clapped her hands, and said, “Alright, folks, let’s get back to it.” There was some good-natured grumbling but no one protested.
They had moved past the big central processing floors into the warren of smaller corridors, storage rooms, workshops, and labs. The most difficult part here was not getting lost. Otherwise, the afternoon passed much like the morning had. Find equipment; identify equipment; note down equipment.
There was a great deal of variety in what they found from room to room. Some, again, had been stripped nearly bare. Others had been forgotten about, or the equipment had seemingly been too large or unwieldy to move. They ended up spending the bulk of their time in a repair floor filled with the inactive hulks of broken hauler bots, drones, and karts. Filling out spreadsheet after spreadsheet about the equipment left behind there made Ayda feel awfully wistful. AIs’ level of sapience varied, and were not the same as human, but on Preservation a great number of these would have been given full citizenship and cared for by diligent guardians. Here they had been left offline for who-knew-how-long, abandoned, perhaps to never be repaired.
Well, no matter the fate of the factory— whether the council decided to use it, or convert it, or to dismantle it entirely— these bots wouldn’t be left behind a second time.
As they finished off in the repair facility, Ayda checked the time. The rest period was approaching. They had time for another room, maybe two, depending on what they held.
The group stopped by the washrooms before moving on. Ayda finished up quickly, and decided to head on ahead of the rest of the group. “Not without me,” Security Lieutenant Ming said, and she nodded. Even if she disagreed with the security’s necessity, she couldn’t fault them for simply doing their jobs.
She had no idea what to expect in the next room, which had the innocuous name of Manufacturing #11b on the facilities map. It proved to be a relatively cramped space, much smaller than the map would indicate. This was because the walls were lined with massive... things. Tanks, perhaps? Vats? They reminded her of something, though. It took her a moment to bring it to mind, but when she did, the answer came in a rush: cryogenic pods. Cryogenic pods, just like from the history books, just like she’d seen when touring The Pressy.
Not exactly the same, of course; the design here was much more modern, and it was all branded in the signature AmaSoft red-and-white, but once the connection had been drawn, it was impossible to shake.
“What is this?” Ayda murmured, under her breath. Lieutenant Ming made a low, non-committal sound. He didn’t know either.
Cautiously, Ayda pulled on the door to the nearest pod. With a soft click, it opened. It was empty, aside from the scent of something sterile and medical. She was no expert in this field, but at a glance, some of the nozzles and folded equipment along the pod’s inner walls reminded her of the bio-printers and surgery arms one might see in a hospital bay.
“It might be a portable medical system,” she suggested, but that didn’t stop the hair on the back of her neck from prickling.
“Ms. Mensah,” Lieutenant Ming said, interrupting her musing, his voice clipped. “You need to come see this.”
So Ayda went.
Lieutenant Ming was at the other end of the room, staring fixedly at the final pod. The gun wasn’t drawn, but his hand was on its grip. As Ayda drew closer, it became immediately obvious what had drawn his attention:
This last pod wasn’t empty.
It was lit from the inside by a faint green light, and through the glass pane, one could make out a body floating in murky fluid. Their eyes and mouth were closed, their expression blank. Of its own accord, Ayda’s hand reached out. The glass was cool to the touch, condensation moist against her skin. The body inside didn’t react at all.
“What...” Ayda breathed. “What are they doing in there?”
“Being grown. Or, m-manufactured, maybe.” Lieutenant Ming directed her attention to a file in the feed, hidden behind a couple layers of security access. Ayda scanned it a few times in rapid succession, trying to glean the meaning behind the jargon, horror mounting as she did. Ming spelled it out, just as the rest of their team arrived on the scene: “It’s a SecUnit.”