Sharps

Alicia slumped down in the right back seat, gazing out the window in resigned anticipation. This assignment didn't sound particularly pleasant, so she distracted herself by watching the suburban town drift by outside the window of the red Nissan.

The Others in the car seemed mercifully oblivious to her presence, which was a blessing. It was sometimes difficult to enforce the distinction between observer and adviser, although lately some of those bugs seemed to have gotten worked out - apparently the code monkeys over in H925W84 had finally gotten the hang of basic social programming. Rocky, the Main Subject, was sitting anxiously beside her while his two Keepers occupied the front seats.

"Mom? Mommm? Moooooooomm?" he whined.

"Please be quiet. We're almost there," was the standard reply.

"There? Will I have to get any shots? Are they going to hurt me?"

"No. We're just going for a checkup."

"Do you promise, Mom?"

"I promise. Settle down."

As the vehicle approached the base's main gates, the three adults produced their ID chips which were scanned for viruses before verifying their owners' identities to the painfully alert young Agent working the guard station. The car proceeded down a somewhat deserted road, passing by a line of pine trees that obscured the beige buildings behind. After two turns, they found themselves in the correct parking lot.

From the outside (and actually, from most places in the inside) the "hospital" looked the same as those that administered to humans. They always fascinated Alicia with their hybrid blend of "traditional" and "live-tissue" treatment techniques for the Others, and she (like most humans) was eagerly awaiting the day when the "live-tissue" treatments actually were meant to treat the Others' legitimate health problems. That was, however, a mental rant for another day. The family was heading into the children's ward, and Alicia grabbed her electronic clipboard and strode in behind them.

The waiting room was as crowded as one might expect, which was also, of course, to be expected. Presently, the sort of studiously calm doctor who would probably break the news of someone having terminal cancer in the same tone of voice that anyone else would use to mention, say, a speck of lint sitting on a sweater appeared and ushered the family back to the exam room. Great. They certainly weren't intending to make this an easy experience for anyone involved.

Rocky, who had passed his evaluation for basic emotional needs a few weeks previously, was squeezing his Mother's hand and looking up at her anxiously. She set him down firmly on the examination table (Alicia stole a look at the doctor's name badge - Dr. Rogers) and took a seat with the Husband along the far wall of the room. Rogers proceeded with a cursory examination of the child, and then announced (in the lint-on-sweater voice), "Okay then, we just need to move everyone down the hall for those shots."

The reaction was as predictable as rain, and as pleasant as ammonium on an open wound. Rocky's terrified screams, jagged and breathless, echoed down the corridor. "YOU LIED! YOUUUUUUU LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED!!!!!!!!" Alicia cringed and tried to block out the noise as they navigated down the hall with the Mother carrying Rocky while he flailed around red faced and wailing, simultaneously trying to escape her grip and punish her for her transgression. The Other maintained her quiet stoicism as she conveyed her cargo to its location, her lack of reaction a reflection of the firmware limitations inherent in the older generations.

Dr. Rogers somehow managed to successfully administer the shots on his first attempt. Rocky's protests peaked as the first needle approached his tiny arm, and then tapered off to sobs as the pain proved itself to be both bearable and transient. Alicia thought she detected a flicker of resentment in the Other's hazel eyes as the Mother collected him from his chair, but she dismissed it as impossible.

Glad to be finished, Alicia excused herself and found a data port in the hallway to upload her results for the day. In the comments section of the electronic form, she stated: "They've definitely got trust down to an art form - but go a little easier on the nerve endings next time."