Planet Telex

"So, what did you find on them?" The senior Agent asked her subordinate.
The junior Agent's search hadn't been fruitless, but it had encountered a roadblock. She opened a yellow file, flicking through pages and pages of redacted documents, some blacked out so heavily the page was noticeably heavier from all the ink. "All our copies of the interesting files are redacted and sanitised by our system… and the target's citizen ID doesn't match anyone."
"Ah. They're an Assistant now. That replacement ID is meaningless, only ties them together in records. You won't find anything with that."
"I have a suspicion that they were Ministry. The redaction is just large enough to fit it when it describes affiliations, and doesn't match the size of any other Ministry names…"
"Marigold. Do you think this will lead anywhere?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, there's no point trying to read through black marker, then."
Marigold tilted her head in confusion as her handler got up to lock the door. "I… what do you mean?"
"I can get you the originals, Agent."
"But, they've all been redacted or destroyed, since, look… originals destroyed in 2145."
"Heh. No, they haven't." The senior Agent sat back down at her chair, and leaned over the desk. "Here's the deal. Get me that lead, and that promotion you're working to for will be as good as signed. Don't, and, well, you'll have to work for it some other day. Either way, what I'm about to tell you must not exit your beak for as long as you live, or you'll end up like the Assistant there."
Marigold looked down at the redacted documents, and then back up at her handler. "Okay."

Claws of Marigold stopped in front of the building she'd been told about. The Archives. An unassuming four-floor concrete building, a simple front door, security bars over the windows, sitting on a quiet sidestreet. The buildings around it were signposted as various supply or logistics depots, but this one was left unmarked. It seemed as if it was designed to be obvious that it held secrets, hinting to those passing to simply move along and not bother themselves with what lay inside.
It looked like it contained nothing from the outside, the old windows revealing empty rooms, making the security bars seem a little odd. What was there to protect? Where were the Archives?
"Ma'am, are you lost?" Asked an Assistant, seemingly appearing out of nowhere as Marigold started peeking inside, looking for signs of life.
"Just here to pick up some files." Marigold replied, as she'd been told. "Were you following me?"
"No, ma'am. We're just lookouts." The Assistant replied. "You can use your ID card at the door."
"Thanks." Marigold said as the Assistant returned to the sidewalk, seemingly continuing their patrol.
Marigold walked up to the door, an industrial steel affair, holding her ID card to the sensor plate beside it. It beeped once, and the door latch opened with a dim thud. She opened it cautiously, expecting another Assistant to jump out, asking what she was doing, but instead it opened to an empty hallway. Doors lined both sides, probably hiding more empty rooms, but Marigold knew she was to head straight for the elevator at the end.
Another ID card swipe and a short wait later, and the elevator door opened to an empty car. An array of buttons covered the control panel, with a more modern looking device bolted on top, consisting of a keypad and a three-digit display. Marigold dared not wonder if there was actually enough floors in this building to require three digits, just punching in '1' and closing the elevator doors.

Information was power, Marigold was told. Why would the Accord ever let go of power?
The better the information, the more powerful -- and dangerous -- it was. In modern Accord society it was difficult to say a word without the Ministry of Internal Affairs being able to find out what was uttered, logged in a database somewhere. Automated transcripts of public conversations, tapped communications, and monitoring of citizen movements were all powerful things to hold when rooting out a spy, but a liability otherwise. What the Ministry held in redacted form was probably enough to disgrace anyone in the Empire, but what was held in the Archives could likely even embarrass the infallible Primus.
Still, one empire's domestic intelligence can be another's blackmail, so the Accord did all it could to minimise the risk. Until this morning, Marigold had thought that the Ministry actually destroyed the originals of now-redacted documents, but that was not the case. She didn't understand what her handler had said about "as good as destroyed", though, until the elevator doors opened.

Rows upon uncountable rows of reinforced metal racks, each a dozen meters high with shelves packed with archive boxes, sat in the expanse of the room before Marigold. Dust hung underneath the dim lighting, giving the area an almost endless feel, like a dead-straight railway track in the rain. One spot was better lit, a small island of desks between the elevator and the shelving rows beyond. A figure sat there, head buried in a terminal, keyboard clacks echoing throughout the expanse.
"Hello?" Marigold said, walking up to the desk.
The figure looked up, looking almost surprised to see them. "Are you the new Assistant that was requested?"
Marigold responded with equal surprise, seeing what looked like a robot Avian behind the desk. "What, no!" Marigold replied, looking over her uniform. It didn't look anything like an Assistant dress.
"Oh. Then what are you here for?" The android asked in a confused tone, mechanical eyes narrowing.
Marigold stepped forward, holding her request form out. "I've come to get some documents."
"And you decided to come in person?" The android stood up, servos whirring with movement, faint shifting of metal feathers being heard as they held out their hand. "Well, give it here."
Marigold passed it over, whereupon the other then dropped it in a nearly full "IN" tray.
"Come back in about three months and it should be ready for collection."
"Three… months?" Marigold asked. "This is Ministry business, and it's important!"
"Every request we service is important, unfortunately." The android sat back down in their chair and continued tapping away at the keyboard.
Marigold huffed in frustration. "Can I talk to someone else?"
"Not if you're looking for a different answer." The robot's tone got flatter in annoyance. "The Assistants will tell you the same."
"Can't I just go and get it myself?"
"No." The Archivist replied. "In three months, it will find its way to your desk."
"It's a matter of the security of the Empire!"
"Fine." The Archivist stood up, picking up the request form. "But I will be informing each and every Avian that requested a document before you why theirs was delayed. ID card, please."
Marigold took it out of her jacket, but hesitated in passing it over. "Only if I know who's reading it."
The android raised a mechanical eyeridge, but answered. "You can call me Archivist Three."

Archivist Three breathed a digital sigh of relief as Marigold left. They had not had to deal with a free Avian for almost a lifetime, remembering why they disliked it so.
"Something wrong?" An Assistant asked, approaching with an empty archival box.
Three shook their head, dismissing some errant thoughts. "No, 0BH. Just… a new request."
"From them?" The Assistant asked, tilting her head. "I… haven't seen an Agent down here before."
"Nobody has really visited for a long time, sending couriers instead." Three unfolded the document with their thumb, looking it over. "This one is apparently urgent enough to require coming in person, though."
"The box repacking is all done, Archivist. Did you want me to take care of the request?"
"No… no. I'll do it." Three replied, folding it back up after memorising the document ID. "I... need to get away from the desk for a bit."
The Assistant nodded. "Yes, Archivist. Is there anything you need me to do in the meantime?"
"Stay here. A courier will be here soon to pick up that folder there. Make sure you scan their ID card before handing it over."
The Assistant took Three's seat after they stood, doing a little spin in it, glad to be off her feet for a while. "Can do, Archivist!"

"Eyes of Silver?"
"Hmm?" Asked the Avian, raising her head to see who was addressing her. "What do you need?"
The Agent placed a folded piece of paper down on top of the open book she was scanning through. "I need you to read this."
Eyes of Silver brushed the folded page off, onto the table, and resumed looking through the book. "I already said no."
"This isn't what you think it is, it's…"
Silver held up a finger. "The Primus assigned me here, and I have no intention of leaving."
"It's not the signals role." The Agent whispered, leaning forward, trying not to be heard. "It's bigger."
Silver raised a brow, bookmarking the tome and closing it. "You'd better not be wasting my time, Agent."
"I promise." The Agent stood himself back up straight. "Just read it."
Eyes of Silver opened up the page, eyes glancing over the paragraphs within. "Still no."
"Please, Silver. That's just the declassified description, we can discuss it more in private…"
"The Culture Office doesn't have anyone else to fill my position." Silver gestured as if to wave the Agent away. "And what would Claws of Gold think if I were to just wander off from this?"
"She recommended you for the job." The Agent hissed, trying to keep his voice down.
Eyes of Silver sighed and pushed her book aside. "I'll consider it only if she asks me herself."

"I fail to see how this is in private, Primus." Eyes of Silver said as she sipped at her tea. "I was expecting a conference room, or maybe even your office…"
The Primus had picked a cafe for their meeting, a quaint little teashop by a main road, bustling with passers by and transport vehicles. Claws of Gold was in civilian clothes to avoid attracting attention, but her bright red and gold summer dress gave away that she wasn't just a regular patron.
"Least private places in the Accord, my dear." Claws of Gold replied with a grin. "But here? Too noisy for a bug, too low-importance to deserve a tail. As far as anyone else knows, I'm just a regular Avian, having tea with an old friend."
"If you say so… the information is yours to divulge, anyway."
"Exactly." Claws of Gold grinned further, poking her sunglasses down her beak to look Silver in the eyes. "What do you know of the Archives?"
"That it doesn't exist." Silver replied, taking another sip of tea. "Rumoured, but nobody knows where it could be."
"Good girl, sticking to the script!" Claws of Gold laughed. "If only we had more of you…"
Silver placed her teacup down on the saucer, crossing her arms. "But it clearly must exist, since I've been told you want me to run it…"
"Well, provided it did exist, I would, yes." The Primus pushed a yellow folder across the cafe table, into Silver's reach.
"Mmh, and if I don't accept, you'll disappear me, right?" Silver picked up the folder and flicked it open, giving the cover page inside a cursory look.
"No, no, not you, dear. Besides plenty of people know about it. Or at least they would." Claws of Gold picked up her own teacup and smiled.
Eyes of Silver read through the summary page, gaining a frown by the time she had reached the bottom.
"Forty year initial assignment, options for renewal." Silver rubbed the underside of her beak, thinking. "I'm ninety two, Primus. I don't think I can sign away the rest of my life like that."
"Oh, you're barely middle aged, Silvie. Besides, it's a real mess down there, and I know you've never been one to back down from a challenge…"
"Usually those challenges don't involve being in a locked room for four decades with no outside contact, Primus."
"Your living quarters there would be for convenience, and you will have Assistants to fetch anything you need from the surface. Plus, it's not like they can stop me visiting..." Claws of Gold sipped at her tea, pausing to let Silver think it over. "Out of everyone in the Accord, you are the only one I think who could run the Archives."
"If they existed."
The Primus smiled. "Exactly."

"Everything should be exactly as you left it, Archivist."
The Assistant gave a courteous nod before leaving Eyes of Silver alone in her new apartment. Everything was exactly where she expected to find it, down to the book left skewed on a chair armrest. This wouldn't be notable, if her apartment weren't now located twenty meters underground in a secure facility. Everything moved the day she signed the reassignment forms by a fleet of Assistants who made sure to put everything as it was in her old home. Upheavals and moving were a part of life, but the Accord at least attempted to remove the "moving shock" from the process.
"Hm. 'Archivist'." Silver mumbled, repeating the title the Assistant had used. It was odd to her that an Assistant didn't use her name, but after seeing all of her files packed in a box, she guessed that her 'name' longer mattered. Just an Avian filling a role.
Silver walked over to her living room table, seeing the unmarked box sitting on top, her new uniforms inside. The Archives technically being under the auspices of the "neutral" Ministry of the Primus meant that her uniforms were not much different than her old Culture Office ones. Button-up shirts -- darker, to avoid showing dust -- and comfortable pants designed for Avians on their feet were expected, but the addition of a few sharp black blazers caught Silver by surprise. This sector was warm for the Homeworld -- but Silver had to guess that didn't make a difference in the archive halls, kept under strict climate control. They seemed… finer than one would expect for a uniform, but they carried the Ministry of the Primus insignia all the same. When Silver began unfolding one, a note fell out.
"Just in case you get the chills down there. -Claws of Gold"

Archivist Three blinked away the thoughts and pulled her mind back to the task at hand. They had not personally done a document retrieval for several decades, instead preferring to work through the near-endless backlog of files waiting to be archived, but this seemed important enough to see to personally. At least, it was something different -- they had near endless patience for their tasks, but a change every half-century or so was welcome.
"Even with a chip in them, I can't read D47's handwriting…" Three muttered to themselves, tilting the index card as if a different angle would let them see through the semi-monospace scrawl. "Hrmph."
Three closed the drawer, confident that this card contained what they seeked. It shut with a clang and rattled the rest of the drawers of the unit, at least ten drawers wide by fifteen high, filled with cards covered in Archivist and Assistant handwriting, connecting various IDs to locations in the rows of cluttered storage racks outside.
"Guess I'd better get 0BH on this one, too…" Three gave the archive box a light kick to see if it contained anything, the box not shifting an inch in response. Probably full of index cards, and stashed under the legs of the card drawer unit until someone got to it. "But, first…"
Three turned the index card over in their metal hand as they walked from the room, trying to remember the last time they'd visited the 27th floor, where they'd find this box… it must have been decades.

How does it feel to have ones very physical being slip away?
Eyes of Silver dreaded knowing the answer to this question as the frantic Assistants carrying her brought her surface-side to the awaiting emergency transport. The sun, not seen by her eyes for more than four decades, stung in a way only matched by the wound in her side. It wasn't the first time that Silver had confronted a spy, but it was the first they'd fired at her.
"Goddess, the Primus is going to be so mad when she finds out I ruined one of her jackets…" Silver coughed with a strained smile, the Assistants holding her only looking at each other in worried silence.
"Archivist, just keep talking." One of the Assistants said, wincing at the sudden light. "Paramedics are here, you'll be fine."
"They came for the Primus, and they came for me as well…" Silver continued, slumping a little further in the grip of her helpers. "It's all got to end sometime, right?"
"N-no, Archivist, not at all." The other Assistant said, shuffling out from under Silver's arm to allow the paramedics to lift her onto a bed in the transport. "You… you'll be fine."
Silver coughed again, wincing in pain as she moved and as the paramedics began to apply pressure to the wound. "Doesn't feel like it…"

The trip to the medical centre wasn't one Silver remembered all too well, mostly being filled in afterwards. The roads were clear, Accord laneways being reserved for official vehicles and cargo transport, meaning that there wasn't time wasted. The lack of data on the patient -- not even a blood type -- did leave the doctors scrambling both trying to figure out what to do, and who they were dealing with.
"She's fading."
The doctor paced around the hospital bed, instruments clicking in ever-less-hopeful tones. "I don't think there's anything we can do." She rubbed her forehead in thought, continuing to pace.
The nurse looked over the half-sprawled Silver and frowned. "Nothing?"
"Not unless we can stop the internal bleeding, which…"
The doctor was cut off by the doors being pushed open by an armed guard, a pair of them filing into the room with their VIP in tow. A Avian-like android, covered in shimmering silver feathers and wrapped up in a long black coat, entered after them.
"Excuse me, but… who are you?" The doctor asked, surprised to see armed guards in her hospital wards.
"Someone you will never speak of again." Claws of Gold replied, moving forward to look over the hospital bed. "You are dismissed. My staff will take it from here."
The doctor raised her hand as if to argue, but the glowing blue eyes of the Primus seemed to cut through her ability to complain. "I… okay. Good luck."
As the doctor and her companion nurse left, several of the Primus's own medical staff milled in to the small room, the Ministry of the Primus insignia above the Science Division's on their coats. Some carried equipment, one wheeling in a large and complex-looking computer databank, each taking places around the bed of the ailing Silver.
"Doctor. I know this is a big ask, but I want you to save my friend here."
The lead doctor, Talons of Red, nodded. "We'll do our best."
"Good. Show me what twenty more years of development on this program got us."

Three paced around the lift, frustrated. Why was this pushy little Agent pushing their thoughts off their tasks? Why was it pulling up things she thought she forgot?
Three thought about why the Agent was strange to them, when they were surrounded by Avian Assistants every day. The Assistants were quiet, thoughtful, exact -- the Agent loud, brash, and demanding. Maybe it was the behaviour, presented so directly in front of them. It reminded them of something. Someone.
Someone important.

"I'm sorry we couldn't do more."
Eyes of Silver held out her hand, hyper-focused on the movements under her metal skin. With each finger movement there was a quiet whirring of a servo, steel cable pulling it into place as if it were made of muscle and tendon. She turned her wrist over to see her palm. It was made of many smaller plates shifting with her fingers to produce an almost natural looking surface as she moved about.
She didn't know why she was so interested in it, but it felt like she was looking at some sort of modern wonder.
"I lived, didn't I?" Silver said, smiling awkwardly. It was still taking time for her to learn how her new body worked.
"If you can still call this living." Claws of Gold replied.
Silver raised an eyeridge with another quiet whirr. "Everything okay, Primus?"
"I..." Claws of Gold paused for a second, looking away. "Yes, Silver. Everything's fine. It's just hard to not let things get to me, these days."
Silver held out a hand, twisting it slightly to see the freshly shaped metal glint in the fluorescent lighting. "I'm sorry. For everything."
Claws of Gold looked at Silver's hand, and with a little hesitation, put her own out to hold. "I know, I know. It's my fault too. I'm hard to love... like this."
Silver gave Claws of Gold's hand a little squeeze before she pulled back.

The lift dinged when it reached the 27th floor, and Three stepped out into the dusty room. Their mind was not with them as they walked the rows of shelves, only using what they needed to read the box labels. The rest of their thoughts were... memories. Mistakes. Regrets. Things they shouldn't have. Things they decided they would not have.
Eventually, Archivist Three came to the box matching the card. A brown cardboard box, like the other millions sitting around it, contained what Three wanted. Throwing the card in the top, they grabbed the box by the handles, and wrested it off the shelf, to head back to the lift.
They didn't care about the folder inside, anymore.

It had been seventeen thousand, two hundred and sixty seven days since Archivist Three gained their mechanical body.
It had been fourteen thousand, nine hundred and four days since anyone had called them 'Eyes of Silver'.
It had been fourteen thousand, nine hundred and four days since they stopped visiting the Primus.
It had been fourteen thousand, nine hundred and four days since they resolved to exist solely to fulfill their task.
It had been fourteen thousand, nine hundred and four days since they stopped calling it 'living'.
Now they had removed the last reminder.

It had been thirty three thousand, four hundred and twenty seven days since she had made the worst decision of her life.

The android dropped the paper-filled box on her desk, causing the Assistant there to jump up in fright.
"Archivist Three!" The Assistant exclaimed. "By the Goddess, you scared me."
"0BH, don't... don't call me that. Not right now."
The Assistant tilted her head. "Archivist, what's... what's wrong?"
"I don't really know." Eyes of Silver said, shaking her head. "I'm just... regretting things."
"I didn't think robots could have regrets, Archivist."
Eyes of Silver chuckled a little bit. "Oh, I'm an Avian deep inside. Eyes of Silver. I'd just forgotten that."
"Yes, uhm... Archivist Eyes of Silver." The Assistant said, tilting her head in slight confusion. "Did... did you want me to...?"
"The request is in here. Find it, and call for a courier to deliver it." Silver put the request form on top of the box, and pushed it towards the Assistant. "I'm leaving for a few hours."
"But... you've never left before."
"I have. Just not in your lifetime."
The Assistant blinked in confusion as the Archivist walked off towards her living quarters.

Everything was as she had left it. Although she had not stepped foot in her living quarters for nearly a century, the Assistants still dutifully cleaned it. Not a single speck of dust could be found on any surface, and the kitchen was stocked as if Silver was still an organic. Nobody had told them to do anything otherwise.
Silver knew exactly what she was looking for. She pushed open her bedroom door, finding the bed perfectly made. Underneath was an archival box, sealed with tape, which her mechanical claws made short work of.
"I hope you will forgive me, Primus." Silver said, as she put the box on the bed and ripped off the lid.
A set of blazers lay inside, which she pulled out and laid on the bed. All were reasonably worn, save for two. One was ragged and had a distinct hole in it, the Assistants doing their best to clean it up after she was dragged from the Archives in it. The other looked as if it was fresh from the tailor.
Eyes of Silver grabbed the pristine blazer and held it tight to her metal chest.

A gift from the Primus to Eyes of Silver, to replace what was lost.
A gift Archivist Three was wrong to try and forget.