A/N: Thanks to Jesus on SpaceBattles for the commission.

Disclaimer: I own neither Youjo Senki nor Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri

A Young Office Slave's Guide to Self-Actualization

Chapter 1

"…the Genejack's muscles and nerves are ideal for his task, and the cerebral cortex has been atrophied so that he can desire nothing except to perform his duties. Tyranny, you say? How can you tyrannize someone who cannot feel pain?"

— Chairman Sheng-ji Yang, The Hive, Planet Chiron, Alpha Centauri System

It occurred to Min 14 that, in spite of three centuries of scientific progress, cafeterias hadn't changed at all since the old days of 20th century Earth. Yes, the servers had been replaced by automated dispensers, and the taste of the food had less to do with the skills of the cooks and more to do with the quality of the food processor's programming. But there were still long lines of identically dressed people shuffling forward to gather their trays of necessary nutrients, eating them with indifference at benches and tables of the cheapest possible make.

Well, that was assuming the historical documentaries he enjoyed watching had any relationship to reality.

There were even cliques, though ones based on department rather than personality. Workplace guidelines stated that sharing meals promoted cohesion and teamwork, so everyone usually ate two meals a day with their immediate co-workers.

There were no laws saying you had to. But repeated failures to meet socialization norms might get one of the Empaths from the Department of Mental Health sent to poke around in your head for possible anti-social tendencies. And no one wanted that on their record, assuming they got out of it without a behavioral conditioning chip stapled to their spinal column.

Honestly, Min 14 didn't mind. As the head of his team, he considered meal times an excellent opportunity to catch up on his subordinates' personal affairs and make sure none of them were experiencing any negatives that could downgrade their workplace efficiency.

It was also an excellent time to catch up on gossip. Being team lead, he was usually glued to his office chair, so it was the junior members who tended to first hear news on the Mining Logistics grapevine. And judging by the gleam in Shuchang 9's eye, there was something juicy indeed.

Shuchang 9 wasted no time. "I just heard it from Personnel. Our secretary genejack just arrived!"

Min 14 nodded serenely. "We were informed last week. It starts work tomorrow. Why the excitement?"

"You see her and then ask! White like a ceramic doll, and hair like spun gold! She looks like some serene spirit! Nothing like those brutes down in the mine shafts!"

Min 14 blinked and cast his mind back to the memo. Yes, the physical description of the genejack did describe a blonde Caucasian female. But given the distinctly homely appearance of the worker jacks, he hadn't expected something capable of inspiring poetry. Still, this one was supposed to take over as a secretary/receptionist. He supposed it made sense for the design to be aesthetically pleasing.

Although why the people in charge had gone for a blonde white girl look continued to mystify him. The initial population of the Hive had been mostly East Asian, and centuries of genetic engineering for conformity had left everyone with similar skin, eye, and hair colors. A blonde would stick out like a sore thumb. But perhaps that was the point. To serve as a constant reminder that the pretty young thing was not, strictly speaking, a person.

I was genejack TN-AE5-00112-2251-G8FX7V. Tanya 112, for short. I was speed-grown in a cloning vat, and hypno-trained for secretarial work. Normally speed-growing a clone led to mental instability, but the moderating chip in my brain will eliminate such problems. It also eliminated normal emotional expression, but the hypno-conditioning included lessons on how to emulate emotions for efficient interaction with humans.

I was 165cm tall, with an athletic female body, blonde hair and pale blue eyes. My height was exactly average for the Hive's female population, but my muscles, nerves, and reflexes were enhanced far beyond human norm, and while I had a sense of touch, I felt no pain beyond a certain threshold. This was not a deliberate choice, but a matter of convenience. Being the first production line of genejacks designed for office work, much of my genetics were recycled from the hazardous environment worker lines. Barring accident, I could look forward to eighty years of productive life with minimal maintenance. Even longer with longevity treatments, but those were reserved for humans.

I knew all this because the training included a full rundown of my own history and capabilities. A genejack needs to know themselves, so they may effectively serve their humans.

However, my training also seemed to include implanted memories of being a child super-soldier of some kind. And of being a 'human resources manager' before that. All of them seemingly set on Earth, humanity's planet of origin.

I knew that genejacks could have last minute memories implanted in them to customize them for their designated position. But why would these memories include such extensive knowledge regarding such outdated concepts as the 'free market' and 'human rights'? It was a proven fact that allowing people to make their own choices only led to inefficiency and waste! The Hive, led by the venerable Chairman, had spent centuries fine-tuning a system that gathered and distributed resources to the optimal benefit of all, and all it required of the individual was that they do their duty. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet these memories were full of the importance of things like 'freedom of speech' and 'self-actualization'.

In fact, these memories were doubly stupid because I was a genejack. A Hive citizen could, if they did a good job, look forward to a promotion, which naturally came with increased responsibilities and privileges. A genejack did their job, and if their job became redundant, they were either retrained or scrapped. No one promoted genejacks because no genejack had the mental flexibility and imagination to provide leadership.

So why did my memories insist otherwise?

A genejack couldn't feel pain. But we could feel discomfort, and that is exactly what I felt as the cybernetic implant in my brain became aware of my internal conflict, flagged it as a possible manufacturing defect, and started insisting I report myself.

It would be so easy. My implant was designed to interface with any standard communication device, including the one on my bedside table. I just had to bring it to my head, and an automatic alert would be sent, and the discomfort would end.

But some part of me that called itself Tanya refused to give in. It screamed that these memories were vital, that it would be a mistake to have them removed.

The discomfort increased. It was like worms crawling under my skin. Such contradictory information was clearly a mistake of some kind. My hand reached for the smartwatch.

But no, it couldn't be a mistake. The memories were far too detailed and extensive. The possibility of sabotage was dismissed. Worker's Nest might not be as heavily defended as our capital The Hive, but as the third founded settlement we were deep in Hive territory and well guarded. Which meant my superiors had implanted these memories with a purpose.

My hand paused. Yes, a purpose. Leaving aside the strange thoughts about freedom and gods, these memories included extensive information on the nature of humans. How to manipulate them and motivate them to maximize productivity. How far you could push them, and how far you shouldn't.

Genejacks were property on par with factory robots… but logically speaking, if it weren't for our lack of initiative and creativity, would we not be the platonic ideal of humanity that the Hive has striven towards since Planetfall? We were already physically superior, with designer genetics, and having no need to waste years in unproductive childhood. These memories might very well be the first step in correcting our mental failings.

No one promoted genejacks because of our mental shortcomings. But these memories meant I, Tanya-112, could become the first genejack to succeed. And if there's one thing my training insisted, it was that the Hive was the epitome of rationality. Efficiency and effectiveness were the final measures of success. If I proved I could do a better job than humans, then there was a chance I would be promoted over them.

Slowly, the conflict in me ebbed. Whatever strange notions these Tanya memories might bring, a central tenet to them seemed to be the idea of following a society's rules and doing a good job in order to reap the benefits. Could this be the human concept of ambition? Every part of me seemed to agree that ambition was a vital part of what motivated humans and made them effective leaders.

Going forward, I should separate my various implanted memories. There were the Hive memories, a seemingly standard education package. And then there were the others. The human resource manager's name seemed to be missing, so let's call them the Tanya memories. The match between it and my production name wasn't lost on me, further evidence that these memories were placed deliberately.

So, I really was meant to be Tanya. Ambitious, adaptable, ruthless, capable of leading and motivating humans to perform superhuman feats. And really, did I not owe it to the Hive (and myself…) to be the best that I can be? It would be negligent to report myself without first testing the effectiveness of these memories in the workplace.

By this point, the discomfort had ceased. As my mind calmed, my cerebral implant decided the issue had resolved itself. I sighed and opened my eyes. There were still a few minutes before I had to report for my first day at work. A normal genejack would have reported to work exactly on time. But Tanya should show up early. It was basic signaling to show willingness to bear additional burdens for the good of the whole.

Step by step. I will climb up the ladder until I get high enough for a comfortable – My mind skidded to a halt. Hive citizens didn't retire. They worked until they couldn't, then they were euthanized and fed to the recycling tanks. The illustrious Chairman Yang had named it 'The Final Duty', and some would even hold going-away parties before proudly and voluntarily reporting for recycling.

New plan. I will climb up the ladder until I can be on the immortality list. The immortality list, the highest tier of citizens who were slated for indefinite longevity treatments. All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others. I quickly grimaced and put that thought out of my mind. Cerebral implants couldn't directly read thoughts (at least, not yet) but there was no need to risk conflict between the Hive training (indoctrination) and the Tanya memories by bringing up strange ideas.

Besides, this was the Hive. The epitome of rationality, rising above both primitive superstitions and human frailties to create a bastion of efficiency. If I got on the immortality list, it would be because I earned it. And I had every confidence I could. After all, I was Tanya von Degu – ah no, I meant Tanya 112.

Min 14 breathed in and out, trying to find serenity in the meditative trance that was taught to all Hive citizens in their childhood. Strictly speaking, things had gone quite well these last three months. The new genejack had proven herself very well suited to the task. In fact, her ability to interact with humans was truly remarkable. Not merely to put them at ease, but to flatter, motivate, or even rebuke as the situation demanded.

More and more, she had become the 'face' of his office, handling all external communications, freeing up himself and his colleagues for more important work. And when she wasn't doing that, she was constantly flitting about, doing anything and everything that was asked of her with wit and verve.

Unfortunately, it was that very effectiveness that was the problem. Rationally, everyone in the office knew she was a biological machine. Emotionally, what they saw was an exotic beauty that took the time to given them her personal attention. Half the office loved her, half were jealous, and half would take orders from her instead of the other way around, and yes those fractions were accurate. Min 14 himself wasn't immune. He had already noted that he'd started thinking of Tanya 112 as 'she' instead of 'it' within a week of meeting her.

Trouble, he knew, could come from two sources. Someone could forget she was a machine, and try and start something inappropriate. Or someone would remember she was a machine, and order something inappropriate.

Of the two, the first might draw the attention of the Department of Mental Health. The second, if done carelessly, might fall under damaging public property. The second was vastly more preferable than the first.

Min 14 breathed in and out, casting aside the irrational urge to protect Tanya. Centering himself in his meditation, he ran through his options. The Hive recognized that the crass demands of flesh sometimes had to be met. As long as one's productivity was not compromised, minor lapses were expected, even encouraged. Lusting after a genejack might be tolerated, love was unacceptable.

So, and so. His path was clear. Some discreet reminders to his co-workers, that Tanya's behavior was nothing more than a particularly complex bit of programming designed to cater to her human masters. That should cool off the romantics. As for those with poor self-control, if they were idiotic enough to be obvious, then Min would happily file the vandalism charges himself.

Satisfied, he slowly emerged from his meditation. Although, one niggling thought persisted… what about the people outside the office that Tanya interacted with? No, that would be silly. New and exotic her line might be, but there had to be at least a dozen secretary jacks running around Worker's Nest, all of them built on the blond blue-eyed template. People would know about them. It was only those who spent the most time near them that would be at risk of foolish behavior. Still, he ought to reach out to some of his fellow department heads, and compare notes. Maybe someone who worked with both the secretary and labor jacks. Yes, both internal communications and external advice. That should hopefully prevent any serious problems before they arise.