Chapter Four

After hauling both Rodrick Credrick and Maria Osbourne onto his shoulders, he began taking them both back to the Vatican.

"I have caught both suspects," he said, and knew the information was being relayed to William Wordsmith. "Maria Osbourne, AKA 'Sharp Shot', operative number 09014. Caught aiding and abetting wanted conspirator, Rodrick Credrick, Methuselah."

He ended his report there, shifted Rodrick higher up on his shoulder and made his way back to the Vatican.

Rodrick and Maria were placed in cells and were to be questioned in morning. The Cardinal had requested his presence as soon as the sun broke over the horizon. Dr. Wordsmith had taken his report to her as soon as Tres had relayed it. (Caterina-sama swore he never slept.)

Tres stayed outside her office door for nearly an hour. There wasn't enough time for him to go back to the library, read and get back in time. It had been three days since he had been in the library, and he could say, with some uneasiness, that he actually missed reading.

He didn't know what it was about it all. There was just something about all the stillness, the age of it all. Hundreds of thousands of books had been burned during the war, but many people had saved them, hidden them away. There were very few, but some were from the late 20th century. Most were from the 21st, but he didn't… well, 'like' them as much.

Maybe it was… the forgetting. He liked to be enthralled with the words, it was… calming. But when did he ever need to be calmed? He couldn't explain it and it bothered him greatly. But it was addictive and almost euphoric, just to forget everything around him and focus on those stories for just a moment…

A loud 'ahem' made him jerk from his thoughts and look up. Father Abel Nightroad. "Good morning Tres-kun!" he said, loudly and slowly. Tres blinked.

"Information requested, Father Nightroad," he said. "Why are your speech patterns abnormal?"

"Because I told you good morning at least ten times and you didn't answer!" Abel gripped, making an exaggerated turn. "What are you thinking about, huh? What's going on in that metal head of yours?"

Tres merely blinked again. What was going on inside his head? Was it odd that even he couldn't tell? Something was wrong with him. Something was indeed wrong with him. There was… the uneasiness within him once more, just like the moment before he asked Caterina-sama if he was dead.

Should he ask Father Nightroad the same question? Caterina Sforza never had a problem lying to her operatives to keep them in line. He had watched her do it blatantly right in front of him. Who was to say… she hadn't done the same to him?

His uneasiness only grew.

"Father Nightroad," he suddenly said, interrupting the Crusnik's rant about how much Caterina-sama scared him. "Am I… dead?"

He had hesitated. Tres Iqus had hesitated? Since when?

"Pfft!" Father Nightroad scoffed loudly. "Of course you're not!" He laughed a little bit, and clamped his hand down on Tres's right shoulder. "I mean sure, you're robotic sometimes and a little weird and hard to understand, but you're not dead! Whatever would give you that idea?"

"According to Nathaniel Branden, having emotions is a symbol of consciousness and a consciousness is a symbol of being alive. I do not have emotions. So I am not alive, but dead. And according to New Oxford Dictionary, definition 3 of the word 'dead' means 'having or displaying no emotion, sympathy or sensitivity.' So, I am dead."

Abel seemed put off by all of this. Then, he laughed again. "Just because you weren't made with any emotions doesn't mean that you aren't alive," he said, sounding surprisingly reassuring. "I mean, if you asked me this, it must mean you're worried about it right? That's something."

Tres blinked again, and had to admit, he did feel slightly better hearing Father Nightroad say that. Meanwhile, the Crusnik began ranting on how cheesy it had sounded coming from him.

"Thank you… Father Nightroad."

And Abel smiled.