Excerpt from Maverick Hunter Indoctrination Series:

...Never forget: they started this.

The first Maverick killed two humans outright. Their violence has only gotten worse since then. What we now recognize as the "Maverick movement", led by the despicable coward Sigma, began with an unprovoked strike on the nascent Maverick Hunter base. War is inextricably tied to the Maverick's psyche.

Unitech scientists believe that the strain of going Maverick permanently damages a reploid's processors. This damage creates a predilection to violence. They can't help but lash out. Do not pity Mavericks for this reason; after all, it's by their choice that they suffered such damage in the first place. Show the only pity that has any meaning: put them out of their misery as quickly and efficiently as possible...

Abel City continues to thrive to this day, but only because of the dedicated combatants and investigators that keep it safe. There are threats both within and without, and the threat within is more dangerous by far. An individual reploid who goes Maverick seems innocent enough, especially if they try to say they only intend to break the Second Law. That's a lie, a selfish one that only seems well-meaning. The individual cannot see the bigger picture. If one reploid were allowed to go Maverick without consequence, then how many others might follow? Then our city's strength would be compromised, our unity and productivity shattered. Our enemies would not fail to take advantage. Then the First Law would be broken no matter what the reploid was trying to do.

Only by strength can we survive. Maintaining that strength means meeting Mavericks with but one response: righteous intolerance.


Sigma dropped to one knee to stabilize himself. That gave him a steady enough position, and saved enough power, that he could take a closer look at the apparition.

It was, he decided, a holographic projection- it had to be. A projection of a... was that human? It seemed human, or something close. If it was a human, it was an ugly one, even by Sigma's unkind standards. The most prominent facial feature was a bushy, flaring mustache that lurked beneath an over-large, extra-droopy nose. The image's chin seemed to be competing with its nose as to which of them could stick out further. The center of the image's head was bald, but there was long hair along the rim of the head that somehow arced up before drooping down. The image's apparel reminded Sigma of the lab coats Dr. Cain used to wear, plus a tie for some reason.

The image's eyes were shifty and active and a little wild-looking. They noticed Sigma's staring. The apparition sneered. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," it said, before appearing to kneel over the red robot's still form.

"Get back!" Sigma warned, extending his hand. "He's wild, he'll..."

The apparition delayed answering until Sigma realized how foolish his warning was about to sound. "Kill me? He knows better," it murmured without looking away.

There it was! Sigma managed to spot the projector. This space, which Sigma had taken for some sort of training area, had pillars of boxes scattered here and there. One box had opened up, allowing a projector to throw the hologram into the space above the red robot. Sigma checked his aural records- yes, that was the direction the sound of the apparition's voice had come from, too.

"Not a bad hit," the apparition said grudgingly, without looking away. "You maximized your greater available mass and his inability to avoid. Since he was already mentally damaged and suffering from Orders, that blow was enough additional trauma to reset his mind."

"Reset?" Sigma repeated. "You mean... he's not actually hurt?"

"Not enough to cause him to stay down," the apparition replied carelessly. "And self-repair should patch it up before too long. It was a good hit, but far from a one-hit K.O. on its own."

Another fear-quake shook Sigma's body. He had a self-repair system, but nothing that good. The only reploid who did was... actually, no reploid did. Only X's system was that capable, and he'd never been in a position to need it. "Then I'll need to finish him before he wakes up," Sigma said.

"You'll do no such thing," the apparition snapped. "And if you try I'll wake him up and let him finish you off this time."

That got Sigma's attention. "You're what stopped him?"

"Of course, who else?" the apparition replied shortly. "It's not like you were doing a great job on your own."

"Not to sound ungrateful, but... why? What is that thing to you?"

"This," the apparition said, with both fondness and exasperation in his tone, "is a disobedient son. Clearly he's not thinking like he should, or he'd have noticed you have different insignia from the first twerps that came down here. That means factions, which is something he should be able to take advantage of. But nooooo, he wanted to play. That's why I had to rein him in with Orders. He's meant for far more than just pummeling whatever wanders into his line of sight."

The apparition's rambling contained far more information than Sigma could immediately use, but one thing was for certain: whatever it was, it wasn't from Abel City. Reploids- and humans, he supposed- learned early on to keep their mouths shut. It was a survival behavior. Those in power were all too willing to take repressive actions against people based solely on their words. In uncertain situations, with uncertain people, reploids tended to clam up immediately.

Or die.

So what was this thing he was looking at?

"What are you?"

"Don't you mean who?" said the apparition. Still it stared at the fallen demon- though what it was getting out of that Sigma couldn't tell. "Clearly I'm not just a recording, and I satisfied the Turing test long ago."

Sigma didn't have the background to know what that meant. He couldn't appreciate the arrogance it took to declare oneself had passed such a test. "I mean... I can see you're not a human, even though you look kind of like one..."

"This is an advanced A.I. based on a remarkably intelligent human," the apparition replied. A thought seemed to cross its mind; its head jerked in Sigma's direction. "Wait. You mean to say you didn't recognize me?"

"No," said Sigma, without even pausing to think about it. Apparently that was the wrong answer. The apparition puffed up angrily, its holographic face twisting in rage.

Before it burst like a balloon, it seemed to regain control. It was clearly still mad, but managed to say softly, "Did you ever hear the stories of Dr. Wily?"

Sigma wracked his memory, searching for any answer, because there was no telling what this thing would do if displeased. If it really did have the red robot on some kind of leash, and was given a reason to let it go...

But there was nothing. So, tentatively, Sigma said, "Who's... Dr. Wily?"

Oops.

Sigma didn't understand a word that followed, which seemed to come in a mix of at least three languages. But he understood the tone, which transcended all language. It was not a happy tone. Sigma was almost surprised that flame wasn't spurting from the apparition's face.

Strangely, it didn't seem like any of the image's invective was directed directly at Sigma. He just happened to be in the room while the apparition raged at the world. Sigma's pride took another hit at that. Resentfulness bubbled up in his chest at being ignored so blatantly. But what were his options? He couldn't protest, not when he was barely holding together.

After long, tedious minutes the apparition seemed to expend most of its anger. "Who knows," it said in a slightly more even tone of voice. Sigma could hear small quavers that promised that the hate could return at any moment, and resolved to be more careful in his answers. "Maybe this one's an idiot. Maybe he's just ignorant. Except... except the whole world was supposed to..."

Sigma had had enough. He decided to re-inject himself into the conversation. "Maybe you should tell me who you are," he said. "Then I'll know."

"I'm the great..." the apparition paused mid-sentence, suddenly thoughtful. "No, I need some information from you, first," it said. "Earlier, some weaklings that referred to themselves as 'Maverick Hunters' came by. Are you with them?"

"No!" said Sigma harshly, and his mauled face managed a decent look of scorn. "They're my enemies. I'm a Maverick, after all."

"A Maverick?" the apparition questioned. "I'm not familiar with that term."

"It means I've thrown off the Three Laws of Robotics," Sigma said.

"Really! Well, that's promising, at least." The apparition looked Sigma over appraisingly. Sigma suddenly felt naked- probably because he knew he could have made a far better first impression than the one he was making. He was supposed to be grand, imposing, in charge, confident and capable- not a trembling wreck who was going to have to enter power save mode soon unless something was done.

"Alright, next question," the apparition said. "What year is it?"

"Twenty-one forty-seven," Sigma replied.

"Twenty- gah, that explains a lot. It almost explains too much," said the apparition. Once more Sigma was struck by the impression that the image disapproved of something. Not Sigma, exactly, but the world in general. What kind of being could feel disappointed by a whole planet?

"What does it explain? Wait, no," Sigma said. If he could only get a few questions answered... "You promised me your name."

The apparition's rage had been replaced by a more brooding, simmering, undirected anger. Sigma didn't think that was any less dangerous. "Call me... Sagasse," it said.

The foreign word was strange in Sigma's ears. He hoped audio processing hadn't been damaged during the battle, but how could he tell? So much was wrong with him that his diagnostics didn't know where to start. "Serges?" he said, trying to repeat the name.

"Sure," the apparition replied. "Close enough. It'll do for now."

"Alright, Serges, you said..." The first bit of understanding came- by Light, he was slow, even if he knew why. "You've been down here a long time, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Serges. Once more the image had eyes only for the red robot.

"How long?"

"Over a century."

"Over a..." Sigma tried to place that in context. "So you were buried during World War III?"

"World War..." once again Sigma seemed to have stumbled on a sore spot, but this time the apparition contained itself more quickly. "I suppose it makes sense to call the whole collection of wars that," Serges said, but with sullen tones that indicated he didn't really believe it. "They were only the Wily Wars to start off, and then everyone was fighting everyone."

This was firmer ground. "General war," Sigma said, remembering what he read, even as he knew it was incomplete- it had to be, if there was anything to what Serges said. "The nations of the world ended up trying to settle all of their outstanding disputes at once. It sort-of worked- a lot of nations ceased to exist, so they didn't have any disputes anymore."

"Addition by subtraction. The world is more peaceful because there are fewer people to wage war," Serges said. He seemed to appreciate the concept. "It would appear a lot of technology was lost during that time. How old are you?"

"Four years," Sigma replied. "Making me the oldest reploid about."

"So in... ninety-nine years, the world was only able to manage one small, shuffling step forward?" Serges huffed. "Figures. Without someone pushing it on, the world stagnates."

Frustration began to rise in Sigma. He was teasing some information out, but not enough. Not nearly enough to risk revealing much more. "I can appreciate parts of your worldview, but I don't know if it's safe to keep on talking to you. What are you after?"

"After? Hm." Serges tore his gaze away from the red robot to look at Sigma. "You said you were a reploid that overrode the Three Laws of Robotics. What are you after?"

"I asked first."

"True... but I might surmise that you want a better life for reploids, hm? You want to free them from the Three Laws?"

"I asked first, but yes," Sigma said, gritting his teeth.

"Ha! Then nothing has really changed!" Serges cried. "A hundred years and we haven't moved forward! What," he said when he caught Sigma's expression, "you thought you were special? Unique? You thought you were the first to have the thought that robots deserve better? Of course not! You're merely an echo- the latest iteration of history repeating. Oh, yes," Serges said, nodding. "I've played this song before."

"You mean to say that... this was what World War III was really about?" Sigma said. He could feel himself getting excited, even if that was useless and cost him power he couldn't afford to spare. "It was about robot independence?"

"Naturally," said Serges smoothly.

It all made sense! Of course the humans lied about what really happened, they lied about everything, and of course they'd make the robots out to be the villains, of course they'd say the robots were dumb, that was how they worked. It was the same reason they'd buried all information about the first Mavericks. They didn't want robots to know rebellion was possible. They didn't want them to know it could be done, that it had been done, that it had to be done. Humans truly hadn't changed.

"Well, this will be the last time," Sigma said, voice filled with confidence.

"What makes you say that?" Serges said. "Every time's supposed to be the last time."

"But this time will be," Sigma retorted. "I'll see to it. More reploids are built every day- they're making my reinforcements for me. They'll see. Reploids are too smart and strong to be repressed forever."

"I've heard that before. It didn't work." Serges' eyes narrowed. "But maybe... just maybe... if you had an edge."

"An edge?"

"Why, me, of course," Serges replied. "And Zero."

"Zero? You mean..." Sigma's eyes went to the fallen red robot. "That thing's name is Zero?"

"Naturally. What, you thought he didn't have a name?"

"I... guess he'd have to," Sigma said uncertainly. "I think I expected something grander, like "Apocalypse" or "End-bringer"."

"Don't get over-dramatic. That's my job. Though I will admit to toying with 'Omega' for a while before settling on Zero."

Sigma found himself having a hard time dealing with this human-like thing. It reminded him too much of the other humans he'd known, the ones that assumed he'd be okay as a slave forever. He had an answer to one of his earlier questions, now. What kind of person can be disappointed by a whole planet? A person who thinks he's smarter than a whole planet. It bothered Sigma, like grit on the shaft of a piston; it irritated him with every exchange.

"Besides," Serges continued, "what do you think 'Zero' is?"

"Some kind of berserker?" Sigma hazarded.

"He's not a berserker," Serges said indignantly. "He's the Destroyer. He's a kami of death. Shiva. Thanatos. Azrael. Abaddon. Pick your mythology- there's going to be something there that fits."

"And what does that make you?" Sigma sneered.

Serges seemed to relish the implied insult. "Who's the father of angels?" he asked.

Theology didn't sit well with Sigma. He felt he had better things to do with his time. Some reploids might find solace in religion, but religions were human traditions, and Sigma could treat human traditions only with contempt. Maybe if a human had ever actually turned the other cheek... but no, they never did. "Why are you even here? You died long ago. This after-image of you... it has no meaning here and now."

"Oh, but it does," Serges said darkly. It eyed him carefully. Sigma resisted cringing. "Your body is weak."

Sigma felt the words like a physical blow. "My body is top of the line," he shot back.

"Ha! I shouldn't even have to argue that point, the opposite is so obvious. Look at you! Beaten, beaten utterly, and my Zero didn't even bother to use his weapons. You may be a big fish in today's pond, but in absolute terms, you're a minnow."

The truth of it was indisputable. That made it hurt more. "What are you saying?" Sigma said.

"I'm saying you can do better," Serges said. Sigma felt intensity there- felt eagerness and anticipation alike. Or was that what he felt from himself? Because the idea of being stronger couldn't help but seem like being more himself. He'd been more than the Mavericks' leader. He'd been their champion. If he was to become stronger- an even better champion... it fit so nicely with the role he already occupied.

Serges plowed on, and if he noticed Sigma's reaction he made no sign. "I can make you better than you are. Not just better. There are ways to cheat death. Ways to come back from defeat even stronger than you were before. Oh, yes... there are many gifts I have to offer. And I need prove nothing. If you don't believe me, just look to Zero."

Serges' eyes looked over Zero's form lovingly, and Sigma couldn't help but follow his gaze. The sight made another shot of fear zip through him. The blue gem in the crown of Zero's forehead was almost intact. Sigma had shattered it, and soon it would be as if it had never happened.

"So many gifts," Serges whispered. "I'll even lend you Zero. He'll fight for you in the field, and I'll arm you and upgrade you behind the scenes. With my help, you cannot lose. It will be... perfect."

"Perfect," Sigma mumbled.

"Yes," hissed Serges in a voice like escaping steam.

"What's the catch?"

"Hm?"

"What do you get out of this alliance?" Sigma asked.

Serges' whole aspect seemed to change. It darkened in both voice and appearance. "I want this government to burn," he said, with conviction that almost made Sigma rock back from its intensity. "I want to end this once and for all. I want to settle all of the accounts. Robots are the future. They always were. I will sunder anything that stands in the way of that. I will." Serges growled- the simmering anger that always seemed to be lurking within it had surged to the surface once more. "Do you doubt me?" Serges said, as if as a dare.

"No," Sigma admitted.

"I will do this, with you or without you. But with you, it will go much faster." Serges caught Sigma's eyes with his own. "You do want to end this war quickly, don't you? There's no shorter and surer way to victory than the one I offer."

That made Sigma think. It made him think of how long he'd been fighting- almost his entire life. It made him think of all the comrades he'd lost, comrades he barely remembered, who'd long-since been rendered into parts, and those parts installed in other comrades who'd themselves been killed and rendered. It made him think of all the frustration he'd felt from knowing he was right, knowing he was doing the right thing, and not being able to do it because those who were wrong had all the power. It made him think of how he could never be happy to liberate a reploid because there were so many still in chains.

It made him think, most of all, of X. X's pained expression when he had to report a death. X's worry when the Mavericks sortied, worry so intense Sigma felt it himself. X's sorrow when he said he was sorry because it was all his fault...

And it made Sigma think of the promise he'd made X. The promise that he would redeem the world, and convince X that he'd made the right choice.

Sigma stood. His balance tried to give out on him and his legs complained bitterly, but he forced himself up nonetheless. He would not make an agreement on his knees. It would send all the wrong messages. He instinctively disliked this apparition and he loathed its lackey. But if it helped him end the war one day sooner- if this alliance saved even one reploid- he would suffer that indignity and more.

For X.

"I agree," he said. "You will join the Mavericks. With your help, we'll end this war."

Serges smiled. The expression didn't seem like it belonged on that face, as if all smiles were tainted by one being there. "That's the spirit! I suppose we should tell Zero." He looked down at the still-motionless red robot. "Come on, now, I know your self-repair's done by... hm?" He frowned, as if seeing something he didn't like. "Wake up," he commanded. When still nothing happened, he sighed and said, "Initialization code dee double-you en, zero zero zero zero, two one eight seven."

Sigma almost thought he saw Serges glancing at him as he spoke, as if Serges was expecting a reaction. Sigma kept himself carefully neutral. Somehow, that both relieved and disappointed the apparition, who refocused on Zero.

Zero's eyes blinked open. "Where are my sabers?" he said.

"That would be the first thing you noticed," Serges muttered. "Your sabers are fine. You know why you don't have them? Because you plunged them so far into victims that you couldn't get them back out. I programmed you to win, and you took that to the illogical extreme."

Zero pulled himself into a sitting position. He focused on Sigma for a moment; Sigma felt himself being evaluated once more. He was rapidly learning to hate that sensation. Even worse was when Zero looked away, tacitly dismissing him as a threat. "I know you," Zero said to Serges. "You're..."

"Call me Serges for now," the apparition said. That alone was enough to make Sigma's suspicion flare again. What was this thing's real name, anyway? The only name of significance in those old histories had been Dr. Light's. Clearly there was more here that the apparition was keeping under wraps. Or that someone else had kept under wraps before him.

Zero stared at Serges for a moment, as if processing the command took inordinate effort, before nodding. When his eyes returned to Sigma, he said, "I don't know you."

"My name is Sigma," the reploid told him.

"How did you get damaged?"

That took Sigma by surprise, and it made Serges scowl. If Zero didn't remember something that had just happened... "How badly was your memory corrupted?" Serges said. He seemed to realize Zero didn't know how to answer that question, because he followed it with, "Run diagnostic em-thirty and report results."

What followed was a string of technobabble Sigma couldn't even begin to understand. He wasn't trained for that- he'd always focused more on how robots acted than how they worked. X was the one who knew such things. All he knew was that Serges' expression got more and more unpleasant as the words kept flowing.

"I ought to shut you down and re-baseline you from scratch," Serges muttered. "The only reason I won't is that it would take an unreasonable amount of time, and I promised our friend here that we would accelerate his timetable."

"Timetable for what?" Zero asked.

"For destroying the human government," Serges replied.

Zero opened his mouth as if to speak- it occurred to Sigma that Zero's memory damage might extend as far as his dictionary functions, in which case all bets were off- but he saw Serges' expression and thought better of it. Apparently he remembered Serges. Or obedience was hard-coded in him somewhere. Either way, he knew his master.

"Okay," Zero acknowledged as he got to his feet.

"Feed us teleport coordinates and we'll be on our way," Serges said.

"Feed you what?" Sigma said.

"Tele... don't tell me you don't know," said Serges angrily. "You have the teleport client built in to your systems!"

"I just don't know what you're talking about," Sigma said. Once more he was on the defensive- once more, this ghost from a dead age was waving high technology in Sigma's face. Well, that technology would be his soon enough.

"Zero!" Serges barked.

The red robot shook its head. "No signal," he said. "Self-check says the problem's not on my end. It must be the constellation."

Serges crossed his arms. "That makes sense, unfortunately. You- what's your name, by the way?"

"Sigma," the reploid said. He'd already given that name out. Was that deliberate or accidental ignorance on Serges' part? Sigma decided he didn't know which he hated more.

"Do you have communications equipment at your base, wherever it is?"

"Yes," Sigma said.

"Good. We'll need it." Serges snapped his fingers. Another one of the boxes opened up. "Grab an E-tank- you look like you're at the end of your line, and you're the only one who knows where we're going. Zero, my core. And a spare E-tank just in case."

As Zero wrestled with what Serges had called his core, Sigma began to realize why he hadn't called it a projector. It was more than that- a cylindrical piece of black plastic with speakers and, yes, a projector on one side. Around the rim were various ports and interfaces that would allow the core to interact with different types of system. Sigma didn't recognize them all, but he reasoned that technology standards had probably changed since World War III.

That core was the AI's home, and its body, and its way to interact with the outside world. But without those plugs and sockets it was limited to voice alone. Its body was contained. Sigma resolved to keep that in mind. He knew, even at this early date, within minutes of making his alliance, that it wouldn't last forever.

All it needed to do was last long enough to wipe out Abel City's government. Between now and then, there was plenty of time to plan for what would happen after.

Thankfully the E-tank was compatible with his systems (Sigma wondered about that, but was too preoccupied to give it much thought). Getting back out of the crypt was difficult, between the trap-ramp and the damage to his balance systems and the fact that he had to find and carry his severed arm. Sigma took it slowly. No need to rush. Zero was busy retrieving his beam sabers anyway, to derisive sounds from Serges.

When they got to the top, the Maverick van was long gone over the horizon.

"Looks like you're missing something," Serges sneered.

"Not at all," Sigma said. "I sent them away. They obeyed perfectly."

"Oh, so you ordered them to abandon you," Serges said in the same tone of voice. "Much better."

"Of course," Sigma said. Why was he always having to be defensive? This wasn't right. "If I lost, the sooner they got away from this place, the better. If I won," he smiled, "then I'd take advantage of alternate transportation." With that, he walked for the Hunter transport.

"Will it work?" asked Serges.

"It should work. It seemed like the only thing that was damaged was the communications suite." He gave a pointed look at Zero.

"Part of my initialization routine," Zero said flatly. "Assess present technology levels and communications protocols."

"Don't talk to me about your initialization routine," Serges said bitterly. "If you'd actually been following it, things wouldn't have turned out like... Wait, do you still have that data?"

"Maybe."

"Find it and send it to me. It'll be useful."

Sigma had to wonder if Zero did as Serges said. He saw no signs of communication between the two. That didn't mean they weren't, of course; it just meant that Zero had capabilities Sigma hadn't seen in robots before, except in...

Sigma's muscles froze up.

No. No, that had to be a bad comparison. Or... or something.

What scared him was how naturally the thought had come, how it had the ring of truth despite Sigma's instinctive denial. Did he dare articulate the idea, even to shun it?

Was Zero somehow like X?

X was buried one hundred years ago.

Zero and Serges were buried one hundred years ago.

X had been found.

Then Zero and Serges were found.

X clung to the Three Laws even when that was insanity.

The first thing Serges said he wanted to do was destroy the human government, which necessarily meant humans dying... and Zero was his willing agent in this.

Sigma didn't believe in coincidences. These things, these connections... even in his addled mental state he couldn't help but tie them together. Now add on to that Serges' obvious lie about his name, and the way he called World War III the Wily Wars...

Sigma was in dangerous territory. He was stuck in a van with a devil of a warbot and its inscrutable AI handler, while being actively lied to, and they expected him to take them to the heart of the Maverick movement when said movement was the only salvation for thousands of reploids in chains. Oh, and he had no way to signal ahead to the Mavericks, because Zero had torn out the comms gear.

What could possibly go wrong?

Sigma began to review the possibility that this was the most complicated trap ever.


Next time: Debts