"So… where did he say we're going?"

Signas pointed up to the marquee which read, "The Regal Theater". Blazing lights all around kept everything well-illuminated despite the late hour.

"Why?" Alia persisted.

"To see a show," Signas said, though with no more understanding than Alia. "He called it a 'pilot effort'."

Alia frowned. "You mean like when you test out something with a small group first to see if it's suitable for the rest?"

"That's the idea," said Signas.

Alia looked up and around, at the large number of humans milling around or passing through the theater's doors. As far as the humans were concerned they were giving the Hunters a wide berth; from the Hunters' point of view, the humans were distressingly close. "A pilot for what?"

Signas didn't answer because X was approaching. The senior squad leader had left his helmet behind and was wearing a bulky jacket, though the other Hunters were unclear on why. In X's hands were five slips of paper. "Here you go," he said as he handed one to each of the command crew Hunters in the group: Alia, Signas, Douglas, and Zero. "We're all cleared now. Follow me."

The Hunters did, uncomfortably. X had entered one of the queues going into the theater, which put them in even closer proximity to large numbers of humans. They were on all sides, now. They weren't pressing—everyone was staying in their queues—but the density was, by Hunter standards, extreme. Signas in particular was acting as if petrified, moving jerkily when he had to and freezing when he could. Given his mass compared to a human's, even casual jostling was a First Law concern.

Alia was diverting her attention by watching the queues. She was sure she could have optimized this process. The physical interactions of checking the papers and messing with them just took so much time, and if she made the queues tighter here and here she could have added another person to do the checks, which would dramatically reduce the wait times and let her get out of here…

It wasn't a wholly successful diversion.

Zero was spending nearly 100% of his processing power on mimicking X's every move. He was completely out of his depth. Survival depended on sticking with the expert.

He watched X reach the front of the line, extend his hand—with the paper slip held in it—to a uniformed human. The human tore the paper in half and handed one of the halves back to X; he took it and walked into a large open area beyond.

Oh, so this was an authentication ritual. Zero could handle that. There were things like it at Hunter Base. He'd gotten used to them, and to the idea that it was easier for him to submit than to explain why he'd destroyed the checkpoint.

Zero repeated X's procedure with a warbot's precision. The uniformed human looked up. "You're Zero? Maverick Hunter Zero?"

X hadn't had to deal with this, which meant Zero was drowning. At least it was a binary question. "Yes," he said with a jerky nod.

"Aww, man, you are my favorite! I'm your biggest fan!" The human put a hand over his shoulder and swept it down while making a sound like "kwaaaaah!"

Zero slowly blinked. After several moments, he realized what the human's gesture had meant: he was imitating a Z-saber strike. Zero couldn't begin to understand why. He gave another blink.

"Enjoy the show," said the human, taking a more normal posture and handing the paper square back to Zero. Zero shuffled past, and briefly panicked. Where had X gone? Without X Zero had no hope of—oh, there he was. X had paused beyond the checkpoint to wait for the other Hunters.

Humans were flowing around X at close proximity, paying him no mind, certainly less than they were paying to Zero. The red Hunter frowned. "You're not wearing your helmet," he accused X.

"You mentioned that before," X said affably.

Zero pointed at the jacket. "Is that camouflage?" he demanded.

"It doesn't take much," X said. His smile was mild but his eyes were twinkling.

Alia and Signas joined them without incident. Douglas took longer. "I'm pretty sure those sprinklers aren't up to code," he was telling the uniformed human.

"I hope it doesn't distract you from the show," the human replied deftly.

Douglas looked for a moment like he wanted to press the issue, but A Look from Signas changed his mind. He joined the Hunters without protest. "This way," X said, and proceeded through another set of doors. "Our seats are along the back wall." The other Hunters followed him like the tail of a kite.

They entered a cavernous space. Row upon row of chairs, almost all occupied with humans, lined a sloping floor leading to an elevated area. Most of that area was concealed by a curtain. As the Hunters continued to look around, they saw suspended balconies in every direction with yet more humans filling them.

Signas, with his sniper training, recognized just how much good visibility was a priority in this place. Almost everywhere could be seen from everywhere else. If he'd been armed with his rifle, he could have hit any target he desired.

Happily for him, he could compartmentalize this line of thinking. Zero couldn't. Tactical buzzed loudly about how exposed he was, and how every egress point was sure to be jammed with bodies in an actual emergency. This wasn't safe. Zero didn't like being here.

He wasn't alone in feeling that way. The theater held a higher concentration of humanity than most Hunters had ever seen. The buzz of conversation was a relentless roar from the sheer number of people talking. There was anticipation in the air, thick enough that the Hunters felt it, but since they didn't know what was coming this just made them nervous.

"Over here," X said, directing them to a string of five empty seats along the back wall. He sat down. The seat groaned gently. Alia followed; the other Hunters did not.

"Will those support our weight?" Signas asked—more loudly than he would have liked; the din was fierce.

"They should," X replied. "You don't have to sit, but you'll attract more attention if you don't."

If his goal was to make the other Hunters self-conscious, he succeeded. Alia, Signas, and Douglas became aware of the attention they were drawing as some of the few—and certainly the most obvious and prominent—reploids in attendance. They scrambled to take their seats next to X.

Only Zero continued to stand, fidgeting restlessly. The other Hunters understood. They rarely, if ever, saw him sit in Hunter Base, and that was a secure location. This wasn't. They didn't pester him.

"Humans enjoy all this?" Alia shouted dubiously at X. She gestured at the seats all around them.

"They enjoy shows," X answered. "This is just the cost of doing business."

Alia's eyes took it all in. "It seems like a lot of work. A lot of time."

"Not to an adult human. Look around—do you see any children? You know, newbuilt humans."

She shook her head. "So, adult humans have more patience? But it's still so much time—I bet there are plenty of other activities with a better entertainment-per-minute ratio."

X laughed. "They don't think about it like that. Anyway, you haven't seen the show yet."

Signas leaned in. "What kind of show is this, again?"

"The performer is a ventriloquist."

"What's that?"

The lights began to dim, aside from those focused on the empty stage. Voices hushed, but the excitement in the air spiked, as if the air itself coudn't wait for this.

"You'll see," said X with a smile.

The Maverick Hunters recognized a cue when they saw one. Their eyes, like the rest of the audience's, went to the stage. The lights continued to dim until the Hunters' running lights were noticeable in the gloom. A voice belted out of the darkness; the Hunters automatically swiveled, tracking the sound, and spotted the speakers closest to them. Zero kept looking until he'd located every speaker, just in case.

Just in case… something.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Regal Theater is pleased to welcome you to this evening's presentation. Tonight, we have a talented set of voices for you—but just one performer. Fresh from his smash-hit "Talking to My Selves" world tour, returning to Abel City after an 18-month absence, we present John Townsend—or, as you may know him, Johnny Talker!"

The next few seconds overloaded Zero's tactical.

All at once, almost all the humans started smacking their hands together, and many began yelling. The curtain on the stage pulled away, revealing a solitary human standing by a table. Lights focused on him, bringing every detail into sharp relief. He was smiling and had his arms spread as if to embrace the audience. On the table was a metal case and several liquid-filled bottles. The case was large enough to hold a variety of weapons, which tactical helpfully catalogued and brought to mind. If the liquid in those bottles was volatile or explosive, that was a lot of nasty in some very flimsy containers…

All the hubbub was denying Zero hearing as an early-warning sensor. All the motion was distracting visual, too. That limited him to his weakest senses for identifying threats. Very dangerous. Only X's absolute serenity gave Zero any reassurance. Even so, he kept his buster primed and a hand on his saber.

"How are you Abel City!" John said, raising his hands towards the roof. The crowd roared an indistinct response that made Alia wince—both from the volume and the incoherence. "It's good to be back, it is good to be back. You know, I always like to start my tours in Abel City." Another roar, though not quite as wild; John's facial expression gave the crowd pause. "Yeah, don't feel special about it. I had to fire my travel agent about this, actually.

"See, I'd love to perform in Zion, it's a good city, but I never seemed to get out there. We'd be having these long, exhausting tours, and just coudn't get it on the list. So I looked at our schedule to see if we could rearrange things, put Zion earlier.

"And I saw Abel City, Antioch, Babylon, Bethsheebah, Capernaum… sonofabitch, they're in alphabetical order!"

The crowd laughed. The Hunters wondered if they were supposed to.

"I shoulda known, of course," John went on. "When you look at a tour route you expect orderly shapes, like circles, and our tour route looked like—" he jabbed a finger in the air and waved it around vigorously.

Again the crowd laughed. Signas found himself fascinated. When X had described this as a show, Signas had expected that the performers would be fully in transmit and the audience fully in receive, but it seemed far more interactive than that. He leaned forward, one finger pressed to the side of his face.

"But let's be honest, you're not here for me, and you're sure as hell not here for my travel agent. You're here for my little friends, aren't you?" The crowd roared. "That's what I thought. So let's meet ''em! First up today, say hello to… Tommy!"

Zero braced himself for an attack. A tommy gun was antiquated but still lethal to humans, if that's what the performer had meant, and the case was large enough to fit one...

John opened his case to where the top of it blocked line of sight to its insides. From behind the case emerged, not a submachine gun, but a felt figure in a tiny suit with an absurdly large head, mouth, and eyes.

"It's a puppet," Alia pooh-poohed.

"It's a puppet!" Douglas gushed.

"Suuuuuuuuuweeeeeeee!" came a voice over the same speakers as before. It sounded far different from John's. The crowd reacted—clearly, Signas noted, this was expected. Just not by the Hunters. It went over their heads.

"Ohhh, we're back in Abel City then," said the puppet.

"Well, yes, you could tell from my intro," said John to the puppet.

"Yeah, but I could tell from the smell."

John, face flashing embarrassment, clamped his left hand over the puppet's mouth (his right was out of sight). Alia pointed, distress on her face and in her voice. "But… he's operating the puppet!" she objected.

"Yes," confirmed X.

"And he's the puppet's voice."

"Yes."

"So… why…?"

"Are you going to be polite?" John demanded.

"Mm-hmm," Tommy replied. John took his hand away; Tommy gasped. "Dude, wash your paws!"

"Behave yourself, Tommy, we have special guests today," John said sternly.

"Special, huh? You mean the usual chumps but we wanna make 'em feel good?"

"No. I mean no they're not chumps," said John, scrambling.

"Oh, so special meaning 'rich'."

"Yes. No!"

"Ah, rich chumps, got it."

The crowd's laughter lasted seconds as John blubbered and flailed. X and Douglas joined in; Alia's frown was crinkling her whole face; Signas just tapped the side of his face. Zero was standing still, wholly unmoored.

"Listen," said John, trying to regain his footing, "these are some really special guests. First time I've ever had them at one of my shows. Folks, put your hands together for... the Maverick Hunters!"

To their collective and complete surprise, the Hunters found themselves bulls-eyed by one of the stage lights. (Curiously, X seemed outside the spotlight's beam.) There was an eruption of noise that Zero's tactical again interpreted as prelude to an attack; he visibly strained as if one breath from bolting. Alia shifted uncomfortably; Douglas gave some unthinking blinks. Only Signas could muster the dignity to politely wave in return for all the clapping and shouting.

"Wow," said Tommy. "That's convenient."

"What do you mean, convenient?"

"It means the Hunters will be on the scene when your jokes turn all nearby reploids Maverick."

Alia's jaw dropped and Signas' waving ceased. This wasn't noticed; the lights had gone back to the stage, taking the laughing audience's attention with it.

"My jokes aren't offensive like that!"

"No, they're just that bad. Like a reploid hears you and thinks, what, humans think that's funny? Screw that species!"

The human audience was falling out of their seats in laughter. The Hunters were not.

"I must be doing something right," John defended himself. "Look at all the people here."

The puppet laughed at him. "You think they're here for you?" He looked to the audience. "He thinks you're here for him! Suuuuuuuweeeeeee!"

"But they are, he's operating the puppet!" Alia protested again, but her voice was lost amidst the audience's laughter.

"Let's be honest," Tommy said to John.

"Sure. We're friends."

Tommy snorted and laughed. "You're just the face. We—" he gestured at the case, "—are the stars, and you're the goof whose jokes make Mavericks. Your show at Shiloh was so bad I nearly went Maverick."

"You're a puppet, you can't go Maverick."

Tommy gave him a manic look. "Don't tempt me, Johnny!"

The loudest laughs yet washed over the Hunters. Only Douglas joined them.

X smiled.

"I just don't think going-Maverick jokes are funny," Alia said. Her expression, clearly visible beneath the street lights as the Hunters ambled back to their van, held disgust to match her words.

"Those may have been in bad taste," Douglas allowed, before smiling. "I laughed at 'em anyway."

"They're therapeutic," X supplied from behind the front pair. "Laughing at something makes it less scary."

"Well, that depends on the joke being funny enough to laugh at. They weren't. I could always tell he was working the puppet." Alia nodded, as if this settled things.

"So?" said Douglas.

Alia gave him an are-you-serious look. "So, he was talking to himself the whole time."

"That's part of the joke," Douglas said.

"Is it?" Alia said with eyebrow-arched skepticism.

"Sure. Sometimes he went a long time treating the puppet as a character. Sometimes he leaned into it being a puppet. Changing it up like that reminds you it's always a puppet. You get used to thinking of it like a character, then the joke's on you."

"Cognitive dissonance is the term," X supplied.

"But there wasn't any for me," Alia insisted. "I knew it was always a puppet."

Douglas shrugged. "Sounds like a personal problem to me."

Alia scoffed indignantly. "Well, if I have to play dumb to get a joke, it's not a good joke!"

"You say that," Douglas said with a knowing grin, "but which of us had more fun?"

"I don't need 'fun' like that," Alia said, but the words rang hollow.

"Tommy was my favorite," Douglas went on. "Oooh, but Barb! Wasn't Barb a hoot?"

"They're all the same person," Alia repeated, but with the air of one who's given up hope.

Behind them, X shrugged and said to Signas, "I enjoyed myself."

"I'm sure you did," Signas replied.

"And you?"

"John was a skilled performer," Signas said.

"That wasn't the question," X said keenly.

That gave Signas pause. He tried to play it cool as they continued their stroll. The Hunters hadn't been acting in an official capacity, so their parking prerogatives weren't in play; it was a substantial walk back to where they'd left their van. At least the humans had thinned out.

Signas was learning, as so many had before him, that X could create a special kind of silence. It was a silence so full of expectation and patience that the object of it had to speak. "I appreciated the skill required to maintain the illusion," Signas allowed.

"Still not the question. You're not trying to find a way to be contrary just for its own sake, are you?"

Signas' head whipped about. "Are you in combat mode? That sounded like your analysis subroutine."

"No," X said, suddenly sheepish, "it's just... well, I know a thing or two about how you were... how you operate."

Signas' analysis subroutines weren't nearly as refined as X, but he could recognize someone trying not to say something. He let it go. "Yes, I did enjoy myself," he admitted.

"Great," said X, eyes alive. "That means most of us did. That's a successful pilot, don't you think?"

"Except for one thing, X," Signas said. His voice was an audible 'caution' sign. "How much do you think newbuilts appreciate irony?"

That took X aback. "Hm. Well, it is something that takes time to develop. A sense of humor too, for that matter- I know it took a while for me. Humor is all about playing against expectations, so you need to develop expectations first."

Signas nodded. "You know more about the technical parts of it. What I know is: newbuilts can't handle jokes. They particularly can't handle jokes about sensitive subjects, like Maverickism."

X's shoulder's slumped. "And we have newbuilts in the Hunters."

"I'm not saying no one can go to shows like this," Signas said. "I'm saying that we can't endorse it. We can't give open license to Hunters to attend this sort of thing. It wouldn't be healthy for them."

X's gaze dropped to his feet- the part of him most clearly inhuman in camouflage mode. "That's part of what I wanted, though," he said. "I wanted Hunters to have shared experiences with humans- with the people they're protecting. I want them to learn how humans think, and communicate, and entertain each other. It's part learning about those they shelter, and part enriching their own lives.

"I can't bear to think they won't get that opportunity," he added with sorrow.

He made such a pitiable picture Signas had to mollify him. "Maybe some other kind of show? Just... not one based on irony."

X lifted his head. "A drama, maybe- there are plenty of those. Oh! Or a musical!" His eyes were bright again. "Musicals, yes! The Hunters need some beauty in their lives."

Signas knew well X's lineage- knew the naming conventions of his family. "Little wonder you'd feel an attraction to music," Signas said.

"Who knows? Maybe my descendents share that part of me." They walked on a bit. "Of course, we'd have to curate the shows beforehand, like we did with this one. And... I'm guessing a conscientious senior Hunter would need to have final approval on whether or not the show is suitable?"

"It's the only responsible thing," Signas replied.

He didn't smile, but X did. "I'll check the theater schedules against your calendar."

"Thank you."

Behind them, unnoticed and unnoticing, walked Zero. His gaze was low to limit sensory inputs. His face was one of intense focus. Anyone who looked could tell he was pondering hard.

He seemed to come to a decision.

"Suuuuuuuweeee," he said experimentally.

For several seconds he concentrated; the turning of the gears in his mind was almost visible. Then he shook his head. "Nah," he said, and forgot about it.

He trotted after the other Hunters.

Fin