Okay, here's part 3:
"We work for an organisation called Great Justice. It's the closest thing the Convention has to a real standing military, but we Troubleshooters function as something like a cross between Interpol and the US Marshals. And one of the jobs we do here on Earth is collect unlicensed 'wavetech for disposal." Rumours that StellviaCorp were trying to get into this business as paid contractors until Haruhi offered the use of OGJ resources more or less gratis, at least partly out of spite, are rigorously denied and probably true.
"Disposal meaning what, exactly?" Freddy said suspiciously.
"In your case, it means we give you political asylum and refer you to the ACLU if you want to add your names to the class-action lawsuit they filed last year about AI personhood."
"Huh," he replied thoughtfully. "Yeah, about that..."
"Oh, you want to go there, huh?" Tom snapped behind me. I turned around to see him pull out his smartphone, flip through a couple of screens and brandish it at one of the state troopers who'd turned up to investigate the explosion. The man went a remarkable shade of red and began stammering apologies.
I raised my eyes heavenwards. Tom's one of those people who gets mistaken for any of a dozen or more different ethnicities, but mainly either Latino or Arabic. And that statie had evidently mistaken him for Arabic and made a questionably-PC joke about him being in possession of an automatic weapon and lots of explosives. This is never a good thing to do to a decorated Afghanistan veteran.
"Anyway, Mr Fazbear... Can I call you Freddy?" I continued.
"That ain't my name," he replied, rather testily. "It's the name hung on me by the son of a bitch who turned me into a goddamn kiddy ride!"
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"We're not AIs," Chica elaborated. "We're the missing kids."
Oh.
Oh, shit.
"I was in town for my cousin's birthday," explained 'Freddy', real name Adam Bernstein. "Mike's mom had ta work late, so I volunteered. No big deal, right? I sit here fer a couple hours with my Kindle, join in when they all sing 'Happy Birthday' an' step in if anyone gets too rowdy. Easiest twenty bucks I ever earned."
"There were only four of us," added Bonnie, aka Frankie Benson. "Mikey's autistic, not that great at making friends. Sweet kid when you get to know him though."
"So anyway," Adam continued. "I was coming outta the men's room when I saw Mikey and some guy in a company uniform going into the backstage area together. I figured he'd asked to see how the animatronics worked or something, he always did love robots, but somethin' weren't quite right about it so I went ta check it out. They didn't answer when I knocked, so I walked in... an' the motherfucker nailed me with a pipe."
Chica, real name Cataleya Vasquez, took up the thread of the story. "Frankie, Paul and I were getting soda refills, but when we came back Mike was gone, and so was Adam. I was getting scared, but the man came up to us and said he was looking at something backstage and would we like to come see too? I should've figured something was up, but I said okay and the other two came with me. The last thing I remember is seeing Adam on the ground, but then I guess he must have stuck us with a sedative."
"When we came to, we were... different," Frankie concluded. "We were... robots or something."
Tom and I shared a look. "Catgirling machine," he said. "Or something like it."
"The guy said we had a new job," Adam said coldly. "That he could see we were having so much fun that we got to stay here and be part of the fun forever. Paul, that stupid brave SOB, he took a swing for him and got smashed up for his trouble. And that was that."
"Paul being the fifth endoskeleton backstage, I take it?" said Tom.
"Yeah. He's messed up pretty bad, but we think he can see and hear alright. We talk to him as much as we can, read to him when we can grab a book or magazine... It's not much, but it's all we can do."
"And you've been here for what, seven years?" I asked.
"Somethin' like that. Sure feels longer though."
"It wasn't so bad at first," Cataleya added. "I mean, we'd been turned into robots to be used for slave labour, but we were slave labour for making little kids happy. There's worse fates, right? But when Mike jumped that man who was molesting the little girl, and free roam got disabled..."
"That's when we started screwing with the security guy," said Frankie. "Partly because we were pissed at getting punished for doing his damn job for him, but mostly 'cause there wasn't a whole lot else to do."
"The man who did this," I said with a calm I didn't feel. "Did you get a name?"
"No, but if you give me a sketchpad and a pencil you can have a picture," Cataleya replied. "I'm kinda rusty, but I used to be a really good artist, and no way am I gonna forget that asshole's face."
Tom turned to the staties, who were standing there open-mouthed. "You get all that?"
"Yeah. We... Hell, I dunno if we need Missing Persons or Homicide."
While they tried to explain this clusterfuck to Dispatch, Cataleya and I returned to the backstage area. "Mikey? Mikey, sweetheart, it's all okay. The cat-lady's a cop. She wants to take us home. You're safe, promise," she called through the door.
"Huh. Are you two an item?"
"I guess. We kinda gave up on the kissing part a while back." She gestured to her beak.
"There's specialists in Fenspace who can probably help you with that."
"Are there now?" She giggled. "You hear that, Mikey? We could make out again!"
"Alright," he said quietly. "Door's unlocked."
Cautiously, I pushed it open. Mike was standing between myself and Paul, clutching a heavy fire extinguisher.
I spread my hands to let him see they were empty. "It's okay, Mike. I'm sorry I scared you earlier."
"Is Frankie alright?"
"Fae'll live," Cataleya replied. 'Fae'? That was one of the pronouns genderqueer or agender people used for themselves. And these kids were eighth-graders? Damn, things have sure changed since I was a kid. "And it's faer own fault for doing the horror-movie thing on a girl with a gun."
Mike slowly lowered the fire extinguisher. "Okay. You said something about specialists?"
"We have robotics experts who can give you a body that can pass for human. Fully functional, too; you can eat, drink and... ahem, chase the wenches."
"I could finally give you your birthday present!" Cataleya piped up.
Mike looked downwards, obviously embarrassed. "That'd be cool. But I'm really asking about Paul..."
I nodded. "Lemme call Tom in here. He's better with the mechanical stuff than me."
We carried Paul out into the dining area, where the light was better, and laid him on a table. "These joints are smashed to hell and gone," Tom declared, wincing. "Nothing I can do about that here, in fact I'd rather leave it to an expert. But this speaker down here I can fix alright, the wire's just been pulled out. And I think these little actuators... Yeah, I can do this." He pulled out his Leatherman. "If you can hear me, this might feel a bit weird." Very carefully, he tightened some screws and spliced some wires together. "Okay, all done."
Tentatively, with a painful squeal of dry bearings, Paul turned his head. "Thank you," he said in a small voice. "Guys... I heard everything. I knew you were there..."
They piled on in a massive group hug.
"We work for an organisation called Great Justice. It's the closest thing the Convention has to a real standing military, but we Troubleshooters function as something like a cross between Interpol and the US Marshals. And one of the jobs we do here on Earth is collect unlicensed 'wavetech for disposal." Rumours that StellviaCorp were trying to get into this business as paid contractors until Haruhi offered the use of OGJ resources more or less gratis, at least partly out of spite, are rigorously denied and probably true.
"Disposal meaning what, exactly?" Freddy said suspiciously.
"In your case, it means we give you political asylum and refer you to the ACLU if you want to add your names to the class-action lawsuit they filed last year about AI personhood."
"Huh," he replied thoughtfully. "Yeah, about that..."
"Oh, you want to go there, huh?" Tom snapped behind me. I turned around to see him pull out his smartphone, flip through a couple of screens and brandish it at one of the state troopers who'd turned up to investigate the explosion. The man went a remarkable shade of red and began stammering apologies.
I raised my eyes heavenwards. Tom's one of those people who gets mistaken for any of a dozen or more different ethnicities, but mainly either Latino or Arabic. And that statie had evidently mistaken him for Arabic and made a questionably-PC joke about him being in possession of an automatic weapon and lots of explosives. This is never a good thing to do to a decorated Afghanistan veteran.
"Anyway, Mr Fazbear... Can I call you Freddy?" I continued.
"That ain't my name," he replied, rather testily. "It's the name hung on me by the son of a bitch who turned me into a goddamn kiddy ride!"
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"We're not AIs," Chica elaborated. "We're the missing kids."
Oh.
Oh, shit.
"I was in town for my cousin's birthday," explained 'Freddy', real name Adam Bernstein. "Mike's mom had ta work late, so I volunteered. No big deal, right? I sit here fer a couple hours with my Kindle, join in when they all sing 'Happy Birthday' an' step in if anyone gets too rowdy. Easiest twenty bucks I ever earned."
"There were only four of us," added Bonnie, aka Frankie Benson. "Mikey's autistic, not that great at making friends. Sweet kid when you get to know him though."
"So anyway," Adam continued. "I was coming outta the men's room when I saw Mikey and some guy in a company uniform going into the backstage area together. I figured he'd asked to see how the animatronics worked or something, he always did love robots, but somethin' weren't quite right about it so I went ta check it out. They didn't answer when I knocked, so I walked in... an' the motherfucker nailed me with a pipe."
Chica, real name Cataleya Vasquez, took up the thread of the story. "Frankie, Paul and I were getting soda refills, but when we came back Mike was gone, and so was Adam. I was getting scared, but the man came up to us and said he was looking at something backstage and would we like to come see too? I should've figured something was up, but I said okay and the other two came with me. The last thing I remember is seeing Adam on the ground, but then I guess he must have stuck us with a sedative."
"When we came to, we were... different," Frankie concluded. "We were... robots or something."
Tom and I shared a look. "Catgirling machine," he said. "Or something like it."
"The guy said we had a new job," Adam said coldly. "That he could see we were having so much fun that we got to stay here and be part of the fun forever. Paul, that stupid brave SOB, he took a swing for him and got smashed up for his trouble. And that was that."
"Paul being the fifth endoskeleton backstage, I take it?" said Tom.
"Yeah. He's messed up pretty bad, but we think he can see and hear alright. We talk to him as much as we can, read to him when we can grab a book or magazine... It's not much, but it's all we can do."
"And you've been here for what, seven years?" I asked.
"Somethin' like that. Sure feels longer though."
"It wasn't so bad at first," Cataleya added. "I mean, we'd been turned into robots to be used for slave labour, but we were slave labour for making little kids happy. There's worse fates, right? But when Mike jumped that man who was molesting the little girl, and free roam got disabled..."
"That's when we started screwing with the security guy," said Frankie. "Partly because we were pissed at getting punished for doing his damn job for him, but mostly 'cause there wasn't a whole lot else to do."
"The man who did this," I said with a calm I didn't feel. "Did you get a name?"
"No, but if you give me a sketchpad and a pencil you can have a picture," Cataleya replied. "I'm kinda rusty, but I used to be a really good artist, and no way am I gonna forget that asshole's face."
Tom turned to the staties, who were standing there open-mouthed. "You get all that?"
"Yeah. We... Hell, I dunno if we need Missing Persons or Homicide."
While they tried to explain this clusterfuck to Dispatch, Cataleya and I returned to the backstage area. "Mikey? Mikey, sweetheart, it's all okay. The cat-lady's a cop. She wants to take us home. You're safe, promise," she called through the door.
"Huh. Are you two an item?"
"I guess. We kinda gave up on the kissing part a while back." She gestured to her beak.
"There's specialists in Fenspace who can probably help you with that."
"Are there now?" She giggled. "You hear that, Mikey? We could make out again!"
"Alright," he said quietly. "Door's unlocked."
Cautiously, I pushed it open. Mike was standing between myself and Paul, clutching a heavy fire extinguisher.
I spread my hands to let him see they were empty. "It's okay, Mike. I'm sorry I scared you earlier."
"Is Frankie alright?"
"Fae'll live," Cataleya replied. 'Fae'? That was one of the pronouns genderqueer or agender people used for themselves. And these kids were eighth-graders? Damn, things have sure changed since I was a kid. "And it's faer own fault for doing the horror-movie thing on a girl with a gun."
Mike slowly lowered the fire extinguisher. "Okay. You said something about specialists?"
"We have robotics experts who can give you a body that can pass for human. Fully functional, too; you can eat, drink and... ahem, chase the wenches."
"I could finally give you your birthday present!" Cataleya piped up.
Mike looked downwards, obviously embarrassed. "That'd be cool. But I'm really asking about Paul..."
I nodded. "Lemme call Tom in here. He's better with the mechanical stuff than me."
We carried Paul out into the dining area, where the light was better, and laid him on a table. "These joints are smashed to hell and gone," Tom declared, wincing. "Nothing I can do about that here, in fact I'd rather leave it to an expert. But this speaker down here I can fix alright, the wire's just been pulled out. And I think these little actuators... Yeah, I can do this." He pulled out his Leatherman. "If you can hear me, this might feel a bit weird." Very carefully, he tightened some screws and spliced some wires together. "Okay, all done."
Tentatively, with a painful squeal of dry bearings, Paul turned his head. "Thank you," he said in a small voice. "Guys... I heard everything. I knew you were there..."
They piled on in a massive group hug.