Planet Telex

"I'm not angry, I'm just... disappointed, Director."
Claws of Gold wedged her foot underneath the body, kicking it over onto its back. Her own face stared back up at her, eyes glassy, beak slightly ajar, muscles frozen in an unusual calm. Crouching, Claws of Gold gently placed a handkerchief over the corpse's face, before looking up to the one sitting in the guest chair.
"I'd love to say I learned something today, but it doesn't look like I'm in any state for that, does it? I guess it'll have to be someone else taking the lesson."
The seated Director, still grasping the laser handgun, kept it in semi-raised at the android before him. He wasn't sure if he should try firing again, lest he provoke what appeared to come back from the dead.
"Oh, don't even think about it, Director. It's more likely the beam will bounce back than actually damage me..."
Barely a moment later, the door was kicked open, a squad of heavily armed Avians filling the room, shouting in panicked squawks for the Director to drop his gun as they advanced. A pair of unarmed Avians dressed in white coats and carrying a stretcher followed, only to stop when they saw the robotic Claws of Gold's gaze drift to them.
"No, no, that'll be required shortly." Claws of Gold said, stepping over her own pooled blood and towards the increasingly shaky Director. "Do as they say and drop it, and I'll make sure you live."
The clattering of the handgun on the ground was echoed by the sound of the Director's right leg being fractured in seven places.

"Director."
"Primus."
The pair looked at each other from across the desk, eyes trying to burn through the other's. Claws of Gold only looked away to stare at the folder she was passed.
"This is immoral, you are aware?"
"The cost is our colonies, Primus."
"Then we will lose them."
The Director's brow furrowed as he pulled some more documents from his bag. "The increased recruitment of Class C Assistants will double the productivity in every sector. I prepared some summaries for you."
"And what good is that if there's nobody there to enjoy it?" The Primus shot back, looking over the provided summary, which she didn't trust one bit. "Don't give me the spiel about how Class Cs are 'lightly supervised'. I've looked them in the eye, Director, and I know what's missing behind it."
"It would not be a substantial amount of the population, Primus."
"You say." Claws of Gold looked down the page, with a little frown. "These numbers don't add up. How do you recruit twenty million, but only end up with twelve million more Class Cs?"
"Ah, well." The Director sat forward a little, cursing the Primus's eye. "To keep up with production in other areas, we would need to demote eight million down from the existing stock."
The Primus put the sheet of paper down. "No."
"But-"
"I said no. Get out of my office, Director."

The feeling of rubbing your head is much less comforting when there's the sound of metal rubbing against metal.
It wasn't a headache, it felt more like a migraine, only instead of blinding pain it was an intense sense of discomfort and disorientation. The doctors said it would go away soon, as her mind got used to running on circuits instead of meat, but even a minute more felt like too much.
"Okay, what happened then?" The doctor asked, jotting things down in her notepad.
The Primus pulled her hand down, hoping that if she ignored it, the feeling would go away. "I don't remember things past that. There's just this... gap."
"You remember waking up, yes?"
"Yes." The Primus replied, looking over at the storage pod her robotic body was previously held in. "I don't know how long I was... dead."
"Two minutes and fifteen seconds, according to the charts. A minute for burst transmission of your last day of memories, and then a minute and fifteen to load everything into the frame."
"And then I came out, and he was..." The Primus's face turned to a scowl, and she jutted forward as if she was going to get out of the chair.
The doctor held her hand up to calm the Primus, knowing full well she'd be physically unable to prevent the towering android from doing as she wanted. "We'll discuss that later, Primus, okay? Right now, we're just focused on making sure your transfer was as planned."
Claws of Gold slumped back into the chair, making it groan a little under the extra weight of her frame. "Fine. It's not like he's going anywhere."
"Revenge is not a healthy feeling, Primus."
She knew this, she'd been told it many times. But, it was difficult to internalise when the target of your revenge had actually killed you.

"We need to... discuss something, Primus."
Claws of Gold put her pen down carefully, having earlier driven one into the desk. The servos did gentle, but not gentle and quick. "Yes, doctor?"
"Has anybody spoken to you about your speech next week?" asked the doctor, cautiously.
Claws of Gold tilted her head a little. "No, why?"
"We've been canvassing public and private opinion about... reactions."
The Primus's mechanical brow furrowed as she realised what the doctor meant. "Reactions to what, doctor? My death?"
"Well, that and the..." the doctor waved a little in the Primus's direction. "...chassis, Primus." The doctor saw the increasing frown, and stepped forward. "It's just that nobody knows about this tech yet, and if the public were to know we could mirror Avians into machines..."
"They won't like it." said the Primus, her frown turning into a grimace as she leant back in her chair. "A violation of the very form of an Avian..."
"You're still the same Primus to us, don't worry, but..."
"I still hear grumbles about Class As and Bs having tailfeathers removed." interrupted Claws of Gold, drumming her gilded talons against the desk in thought. "Okay. I see what you're saying, doctor. Thank you for doing the research."
The doctor clutched her clipboard as the Primus stood from her chair and walked to the glass wall behind her, leaning against the railing. "Primus, we... we've looked into alternate options, such as video synthesising, which will allow you to do speeches remotely without worrying about public opinion..."
"Tell me, what is the public opinion?" asked Claws of Gold, staring out the window. "That I live as this, or die an Avian?"
The doctor stayed silent, looking down at her clipboard.
"I see." replied the Primus, glancing down at the inky black expanse of the city below.

The Primus stared the tiled floor of her personal medbay. Designed as a critical care room in case of emergency, it in the end didn't do her much good. The storage pod for her robotic shell sat open in the corner, remaining in its place at her request. It didn't make any sense, but something in the back of her mind hoped that she'd be able to get back in it and wake up organic again.
"How do I tell Silver?" she asked, after a long silence.
The doctor looked up from her scribbled notes. "Silver?"
"Eyes of Silver. Head Archivist." replied Claws of Gold, quietly.
"You don't have to personally handle everyone that reports to you, Primus. Probably a good opportunity to delegate, if anything."
"No, it's..." Claws of Gold paused, eyes shifting to the doctor's. "It's different."
The doctor put her notepad down on the bench, making it clear she'd not write anything down. "Do you have a relationship?"
"Well..." sighed Claws of Gold. "Yes. We do. Thirty years, on and off."
"How do you think they would react?"
Claws of Gold's optical arrays drifted back to the tiles. "I'm scared they won't like it."
Scared. It was an odd feeling for the Primus. She'd never been truly scared of anything in her life, even as she drifted into the blackness of death. Angry, anxious, maybe even worried here and there, but... never anything like this.
But now, she was afraid of losing something she valued even more than her own life, and that was the Archivist.