CHAPTER THREE: ONE PERSON'S SHAME IS ANOTHER'S ENTERTAINMENT

"Iris."

The word seeped down and infiltrated Iris's deep slumber, partially drawing her out from a dream; she gave out a small, irritated moan and prepared to submerge once again into her subconscious, turning over on her side as she did so.

"Iris!!"

Something grabbed ahold of her shoulder and shook her--and none too gently, either. She opened up her sleep-bleared eyes and saw her brother standing over her, his hand still in its death-grip.

"What? What?" she mumbled, the initial shock quickly subsiding. "I really wish you wouldn't do that, brother! What I wouldn't give for a nice, enclosed stasis pod sometimes!"

"Iris, look at the clock," Colonel spoke, crossing his arms and giving her a reproachful glance; she did as bidden, shifting her gaze over to the timepiece on her nightstand: eight o' clock in the morning.

"I have to report to the Headquarters at precisely nine," Colonel continued, "and if you aren't ready when I am, then it's too tough for you. I won't have you late for registration." A small smile tinged his lips, but Iris knew he meant every word he said.

"Oh, great great great," Iris muttered, disconnecting a cord from a port located near her wrist; this cord was attached to a small generator on the other side of the room. She didn't use it often because sleep was usually enough to replenish most of her energy supply, but both her brother and creator had insisted that she have her energy at its maximum for this special occasion. She activated an internal mechanism that caused a layer of skin to cover up the port, hiding it from view.

Colonel exited the room as she fumbled through her closet and extricated her freshly pressed Repliforce uniform. As she slipped into it, she thought sourly: Sometimes I wish he wasn't so...punctual. Well, I suppose he can't help it--army life does tend to warp your mind a bit. Does he think I'm lazy or something? It doesn't take me a whole hour just to get ready! Maybe he's nervous...I know I am. He probably just wants everything to go off smoothly. But, I wish, I wish I had a good deadbolt on my door!

After she dressed and made her way downstairs, her sleepiness began to wear off a little, and that faint feeling of nervousness suddenly began to burgeon inside her, and countless doubts entered her mind. What if she screwed up? What if she made a fool out of herself? What if she failed to be accepted? What would her family think?

She took a gulp of air and forced herself to be calm. It was only a simple registration for a non-military post, she reminded herself, and all she had to do was sit, be polite, and answer a series of easy questions. Getting a position would be a shoo-in. But God! How she wished her brother would be there with her! But he had told her himself that he wouldn't help her in the registration and the interview; being a high officer, his presence would bias the registrar in her favor, and that just wasn't cricket. Besides, he wanted her to do this on her own merits--he wouldn't coddle her.

Iris sighed deeply again and straightened her shoulders before going into the dining room/kitchen, where her brother and creator were sitting at the table, reading sections of the newspaper. She exchanged pleasantries with them before going into the kitchen and quickly whipping up a breakfast of toast and an omelet for the doctor and some energy-rich synthetic foods and drinks for herself and Colonel. She really didn't need the food, but she decided that a little extra energy couldn't hurt her.

After eating quickly and hastily putting up the dishes, Iris was called along with her brother into the entry hall by Dr. Thorne, who gave her a good looking-over and nodded his approval.

"Good luck to you, my girl," he said, lightly patting her shoulder and smiling. "I'm certain you'll do just fine." He wagged his finger at her. "Make me proud! Remember: make eye contact when you speak, reply promptly and carefully, and be confident, and victory will be yours!"

He then went out into the garage; Iris heard the faint hum of the electric motor of the family's only car. While Colonel and she would be traveling to the Repliforce Headquarters via the domestic teleporter, it would not be wise to put Dr. Thorne's tough but old body through the strain of teleportation. Humans always had a difficult time teleporting; some of the more feeble ones had even died from it. Besides, their creator wasn't going to the same buildings as they were, being a head member of Repliforce.

Colonel spoke to his sister: "All right, it's time to go. I could teleport into the H.Q. itself and save us some walking, but that's only reserved for officers--you don't have clearance. We'll have to teleport to the unit just outside the walls."

"That's fine," Iris said simply. Colonel nodded and went over to the teleporter's console, punching in the coordinates. He motioned for Iris to stand next to him and, with a flash of reddish light, they disappeared.

*************

They arrived seconds later; the huge, forbidding metal outer gates of the Repliforce HQ loomed up in front of Iris, and the dead sparkle of barbed wire and some mounted laser rifles gleamed down at her. She flinched slightly at the sight; even her brother seemed small against the humongous walls and doors.

Her brother stepped forward and pressed a key on a small console. Immediately, a voice croaked out from a nearby speaker:

"Identify yourself."

"Colonel of the Repliforce, Reploid 49863. Seeking admittance."

The speaker's response was drowned out by a loud, high whinny. There was a brief, soft sound of scuffling and a few unintelligible words and then a new, familiar voice rang out.

"Colonel? It's me, Spiral! (Stop pushing! Leggo!) And you've brought company, too, I see. Gotta love the surveillance system here. When you guys get to the main fountain in the courtyard, could you stop for a sec?(Umph! Lay off, will ya? Oh, same to you, too!) I want to talk with you. Ciao!"

Colonel clapped a hand over his face and muttered darkly, "Ye gods, can't he show some restraint for once? He'll never make a good officer at the rate he's going. Storm Owl needs to do something about him."

"I think it's cute," Iris said softly. Colonel merely frowned deeper and marched through the now-open gates, making Iris run to catch up with his long strides.

The Repliforce Headquarters had been built into the shape of a perfect quadrilateral: barracks for the troops made up one side, training facilities another, while offices and various other buildings such as small shops and storehouses formed the other two. The buildings were all positioned around a central courtyard, mainly used for recreational activities. Fountains, various game courts, and even a small playground for children of human members dotted the carefully manicured greenery.

The biggest and most elaborate fountain, made completely of finely sculpted marble, marked the very center of the courtyard. As the siblings approached it, Colonel slowed down and, with an air of reluctance, stood next to it. Iris sat down on the edge.

"We might as well wait for Spiral," Colonel said, gazing down idly at his reflection in the fountain waters. "I hope he doesn't keep us waiting too long."

"He won't," Iris assured him. Secretly, she hoped that the reploid pegasus would take all the time he wanted in arriving; she wasn't in a rush to be interviewed.

Her hopes were dashed when, a few minutes later, Spiral was seen flying towards them; he skidded to a halt in mid-air and gave a salute.

"Good morning, Sir! Same to you, Iris," he greeted.

"Good morning. What's your business, Spiral?" Colonel asked.

"What's this? Can't a reploid have a nice, friendly conversation with his superiors without getting the third degree?"

"Spiral," Colonel said, trying very, oh so very hard to remain patient, "get to the point, please. Iris and I have business to attend to, and don't have much time for talk."

"Hmm? What sort of business?" Spiral's ears pricked up in pique, and his nostrils quivered.

"I'm going to join up with the Repliforce staff today," Iris explained with a smile; Spiral tossed his head up and down in glee.

"Joy!" he exclaimed. "It'll be nice to have you on our team. Maybe we'll get a surveillance shift together one of these days. Wouldn't that kick all else?"

Iris nodded and grinned brightly at him and would have given a response, but her brother spoke up before she could say a word.

"And she's going to be late for her interview if you don't cut to the chase, Spiral. Please, if you have anything to say, tell me now."

"Well, Sir," Spiral scratched at his mane, cocking his head a bit and glowering slightly, "there're Hunters in the H.Q."

"Yes, I know--I was told a few days ago. They come and see how our progress is coming along from time to time. We are their co-workers, in a sense. Our business concerns them greatly."

"I guess," Spiral said petulantly, staring down at his feet. "But I still think that they have no place within these walls! They're snooping around--and laughing at us, I'll bet."

"They probably think the same things when some of our people inspect Maverick Hunter H.Q., Spiral," Colonel reprimanded.

"Bah! All I know is that Hunters are in this place, and I like it as much as I do the bubonic plague. And guess what? Zero's with 'em."

"That's 'Commander' Zero, Spiral. I know you don't like him, but he deserves respect," Colonel reminded the pegasus wearily--they obviously had had this type of conversation numerous times before.

"Hah! 'Commander' Zero my--"

"Spiral!" Iris interrupted, unable to restrain herself from laughing. "Be nice!"

"Nice?" Spiral looked offended. "I am nice. Niceness is my middle..." the reploid pegasus's narrowing eyes were riveted on something in the distance, and his jocular tone trailed off.

"Well, well, well," he sneered--Iris didn't know horses could sneer, but he managed to do it, "if it isn't Commander Modesty himself. I hate to be rude, but I'm leaving before I puke out my circulatory fluids. Goodbye, Sir. I'll see you around, Iris." Spiral saluted, spread out his wings, ignited his boosters, and soared off.

Colonel's brow remained creased, but he didn't say anything concerning Spiral's lack of protocol; instead, he took Iris by the arm and said, "I'm going to speak with Zero briefly, Iris. Someone must greet him and the other Hunters properly. I doubt they've been given a warm welcome."

A small, faded copy of that paralyzing fear of strangers formed in Iris's chest, but she nodded her compliance. But as Colonel began walking, she ducked behind him and clutched one of his arms, shielding herself behind his massive body.

He stopped abruptly; she nearly banged her nose against his back, but stopped herself just in time.

Her brother started the conversation, but Iris was so overwhelmed with shyness that she wasn't even listening to the words--they all sounded the same to her.

Then, suddenly, the arm she was grasping jerked to the side a little, pulling her face and upper torso out from Colonel's shadow. Iris felt a numbing shock run through her; what was her brother doing?

"And, Zero, this is my sister, Iris. Iris, Zero." Colonel shook his arm a little in emphasis.

Iris couldn't speak: here, standing right in front of her, was Zero, one of the greatest--if not the greatest--Hunters that was ever built, she knew, despite Spiral's aspersions. Her brother and creator had nothing but admirable things to say about him, and she thought that theirs was the better judgment. She smiled as widely as she could at Zero and nodded, getting a good look at him.

He was tall--not as tall as her brother, but well over the six foot mark. He was garbed in thick, crimson armor, and his equally crimson helmet was crested, a large blue gem ensconced in it, winking back at her. She guessed that that must have been where his control chip was stored. His face was thin and sharp, and the corners of his mouth had faint little lines that looked inedible etched there; it was the face of someone who seemed angry most of his days--she had heard that he possessed quite a nasty, easily-lost temper. He was stern, but not like her brother was stern, in a regal, judicial way; Zero was stern because he was somewhat harsh, a result of a life consisting of fighting countless battles and even being destroyed once. She guessed that she couldn't blame him for his anger--if she had fought for so long against Mavericks, only to have them come back again and again despite her efforts, she wouldn't be radiating sunshine, either. She absorbed and recorded all of this information in seconds.

And, despite his rather forbidding appearance, he was pleasing to her--he was actually quite good-looking, in that dangerous sort of way. He seemed full of mysteries, it seemed: she wouldn't have minded if she saw more of him.

He nodded back at her; it was then that she noticed a long flash of gold hanging down his back. It was his hair, and it was almost as long as hers, and hers came down to her ankles. For some strange reason, she fought against an urge to braid it, but wisely kept the notion to herself.. Zero then started conversing with her brother again; finding that she was no longer needed, Iris quietly slipped away onto the a flight of steps leading up to a nearby store and watched the two talk.

A minute or so passed, and suddenly the store door opened up; a small blue-armored reploid, barely taller than she was, stepped out.

"Hey, Ze--oh." His voice was oddly high-pitched; Iris gaped up at him.

The reploid must have felt her stare, because he whipped his head around and looked down at her, his mouth formed into the shape of an 'o' but not saying anything.

He had a very sweet, boyish face, almost seraphic, dominated by two deep-blue eyes, almost as blue as his armor. For some reason, Iris did not feel the expected rush of terror--something about his face and bearing told her that he was someone to be trusted.

"Hi, there," Iris smiled, waving enthusiastically. "Do you know him?" She jerked her head towards Zero.

"Hey," the stranger answered cheerfully, smiling back. "Yeah, I know him. He's my best friend."

"Then you must be...I think my brother's told me about you before..." Iris closed her eyes, trying to recall his name.

A small sigh escaped the blue reploid's lips and he shrugged in defeat. "Everybody asks that," he said with a small, almost sad smile. "My name's X. I lead the 17th unit of the Hunters."

"Oh, that's right! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just got created a few weeks ago, and I'm not very familiar with names."

"Ah, forget about it," X smiled easily, waving off her apologies. "Happens all the time. I'm used to it. I'm sorry if I sounded prissy. It's just that when everybody who isn't in the Maverick Hunter H.Q. doesn't remember your name after all these years of service--it kinda grates on you, you know? I've been on the news God knows how many times, and still people mistake me for Tellytubbie. It's my voice. It's too high."

"I think it's cute. I don't mind it at all," Iris laughed, and she realized she meant what she said. He really was an endearing character, and she liked him right away.

"Thanks. Say, what's your name? Sorry I didn't ask."

"Iris. That's my brother, talking with Zero."

"Ah! I didn't know Colonel had a sister. But, like you said, you're new. I'm actually surprised you haven't met Zero before. He and your brother spar enough. They're pretty good pals."

"They certainly talk like it. My brother usually doesn't spend so much time chattering," Iris giggled.

"Yeah, and if they don't stop soon, we're never going to finish this inspection," X grumbled. He glared impatiently at Zero, sighed in defeat, and turned to her again.

"So," he continued, pouting a little in thought. "What's up with you?"

"I'm getting a post in the Repliforce ranks today--non-combat, of course! A medical helper, a courier, something. I'm nervous as heck!" Iris said, her smile quavering; X nodded, and his eyes seemed full of sympathy.

"I understand exactly how you feel. I started out in the Hunters as Cain's lab assistant--when I first trained for combat, I had to take tranquilizers to kill the embarrassment, I was so out of practice. But it'll get better, trust me. You'll do fine." X grinned sweetly and gave her a reassuring wink.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go get Goldilocks and get on with our inspection, or Cain's going to have a stroke. HEY, ZERO! LET'S MOVE IT!" X jumped off the steps and went over to Colonel and Zero. Zero frowned and gave some final words to Colonel before moving off with X; the blue reploid socked his companion in the shoulder as they went out of sight.

*************

Iris and Colonel made their way to the registration offices, and after winding their way down various corridors, they halted in front of a door with the sign: APPLICATION

SERVICES.

"Well, here we are," Colonel said, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving them an encouraging shake. "It's all yours from here. You will do fine. When you're done, you can use the teleporter outside the gates to get home. I have meetings today, so I won't be coming home until evening."

Iris nodded silently, giving her brother a faint smile. He patted her shoulder as he marched down the hallway, leaving his sister to her own devices..

When she opened the door and walked timidly into the room, Iris was met with a cacophony of shouting, feet running, and papers rustling. She was in a waiting room of sorts, and one end there was a counter with a glass window; behind the counter she could make out dozens of computers and stacks of files and folders. Humans and reploids alike were running past, mere blurs of color.

Iris slowly walked forward and reluctantly pushed the call button embedded in the glass. A few seconds later, a female human appeared at the window and opened it. She wore a uniform, now disheveled, and her eyes were slightly glazed and frantic. Her face was strained and weary, but striving to be pleasant despite smudged make-up.

"Hi," the human panted heavily, her bright cherry red hair out of place and falling into her eyes. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Um, hi," Iris licked her lips nervously. "May I ask what's going on back there?"

"Oh, just plain hell, that's all. We're doing a total renovation of the files--every soldier, courier, and janitor has to be accounted for. We're a bit busy, as you can see. I'm Sergeant Parkerson, and I'm the head of this department. "

"Is this the place for registration?" Iris inquired, feeling that, somehow, she had been lead to the wrong place.

Parkerson nodded and was about to speak, when a voice, muted to Iris's ears, called from behind. The Sergeant whirled around and shouted, "Hold on a minute! I'll be RIGHT THERE!!!" She turned to the gaping reploid and continued, "Yeah, you've come to the right place. I'll get someone." Parkerson turned again: "Hey!! Artotrogus! A little help, please!!"

A black-armored reploid, his face flat and cynical, stepped out of the chaos. Parkerson went to him, pointed to Iris, said a few unintelligible words, and then raced off the scene.

"So," Artotrogus said dully, his eyes apathetic, "you want an application?"

"Yes, please," Iris whispered.

Artotrogus produced a few sheets of paper and a pen and shoved them under nose, parroting, "Make sure you fill everything out. Write neatly, because the idiots here aren't going to spend more than thirty seconds looking at the thing, and they don't want to strain their brains figuring out what you scrawled."

"Um, okay. Thank you." Iris was nonplused at the reploid's attitude; what had she done to offend him?

It's probably not personal; he looks like he dislikes everything, Iris concluded to herself as she filled out the forms.

Her evaluation wasn't far from the mark. The reploid watching her had once been a good soldier in the Repliforce ranks, but he had fallen from grace when he had drunk too much spiked oil one night and had gotten into a brawl with some Hunters. As punishment, he had been demoted to the legions of filing clerks, forgotten among the ink and the papers and the computers. He hated his job, and was resentful of his superiors, his coworkers, and the people he had to kowtow to--if you could call his service kowtowing.

When Iris finished and handed in the forms, Artotrogus grunted: "Hold on a moment. Let me get this stuff faxed to the people who'll be interviewing you. We'll enter this information into a computer as soon as we can, get you a pass and a record."

While Iris waited quietly, Artotrogus sulked over to the fax machine, his mind full of silent complaints and dislike of the sissy Reploid who had made him go through all this trouble. The more he thought of her, the more his resent was displaced, all of it turning against her. He wanted to spite her.

As he put the papers in, Artotrogus had a mean little thought, and he snickered. He faxed the papers to a different department, and then he switched on his wrist communicator.

"Halen? It's Art. I've got a new applicant for you. Yeah, I know she's late for the interview. Hell, it's not my fault she can't tell one end of the clock from the other. Yeah, she's in the application office. Come and get her."

*************

A few minutes later, another Reploid marched into the room and stepped in front of Iris.

"So, you're the late-comer, eh? I'm your proctor. Follow me. The others are already taking their tests." Iris nodded and followed the proctor out; she didn't hear Artotrogus's snicker.

"First thing you've got to do," the proctor drawled, leading Iris in front of a door with the words TESTING ROOM emblazoned on it, "is take a test. Just to see if you're not a drooling idiot. You'll do fine--if you get half of them right, you've got a good chance of getting admitted if you do well on the other tests. A retarded jellyfish could do this."

Iris would have laughed, but the proctor had opened the door and pushed her on in. In the room was a small group of humans and Reploids at some tables, their heads bent over booklets and answer sheets. Iris took a seat and the proctor plunked a pencil, booklet, and answer sheet of her own in front of her.

"Erase all marks clearly if you want to change an answer. Make sure you don't get your numbering off--you wouldn't believe how many people do that. And, of course, don't cheat. Good luck," he droned, and then walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Iris diverted her attention to the papers in front of her; she filled out the information requested on the answer sheet and opened up the test booklet.

For about five minutes, her waning confidence soared: the questions were ridiculously simple, such as: A rose is a A) mammal B) insect C) plant D) mineral. She nearly laughed out loud.

But after about the first twenty-five questions, the test suddenly turned impossible for Iris. Questions like A force of six soldiers, all in single file, rush towards you. What kind of gun would be best for this situation? A) a magnum 73561XED-191 with automatic ammo lock...

The names of hundred of types of guns, plasma bombs, tank designs, and other obscure information leapt out of her--information that Iris didn't have any knowledge about. It was then she realized: She had been signed up as combat position applicant! She was trying out for the WRONG position!

Her internal circuitry ground to a halt and she felt breathless: she took several gulps of hot air to clear her reeling head. What could she do? She could tell the proctor, but it'd be some time before he would come back in again, and then she would have wasted his time and her time and she would look really foolish and...

Iris shook her head and felt a trembling in her gut: she'd just have to wait it out. In the meantime, she should at least answer the questions and not make an idiot of herself.

So Iris was actually the first person to finish the test, despite her late start: she simply filled out dots at random, making words like ADDA and ABBA and CAD out of the bubbles. It was actually kind of fun.

When she finished, she felt a slight tap on her shoulder. A human male sitting behind her whispered in her ear, "What's the answer to question 49?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you," Iris whispered back with a regretful shrug. The human sat back in his chair and glared at her.

"Snotty 'roid," he grunted; a small twitter of laughter erupted around them.

The door yanked open, and the proctor stuck his head in.

"Hey! Quiet! No cheating!" he bellowed, gazing direfully at all the test takers, who smiled innocently up at him. Some pointed in Iris's direction.

"You be quiet. If I hear another word outta you, I'm gonna throw your butt out of here so fast." the proctor snapped at Iris; she bent her head over her booklet and nodded, glad that her long tendrils of hair would conceal her blush. When the proctor left, one of the humans threw a wadded-up piece of paper at Iris's head and nearly knocked her beret off. What a lovely bunch of coworkers they would have made.

*************

After the tests had been collected, the proctor ushered Iris's group out and down numerous corridors. On numerous occasions, Iris had cleared her throat and attempted to speak to the proctor, but whenever she did, her voice always seemed to crack and dwindle down into nothing. This, to say the least, annoyed the proctor.

"I really hope that you'll do well on the other tests," he told her after the third time she tried to speak, "because they'll usually take people like you if they can fight good."

Oh, thank you very much, Iris thought ruefully to herself: she was getting increasingly frustrated at herself and frightened and embarrassed.

The group was herded into a huge training room, which was empty save for four huge monoliths in the corners. Up on one of the walls, through a glass front, Iris could see a small team of Repliforce technicians working at a myriad of controls. The proctor turned smartly around and addressed the applicants in a ringing voice:

"This is the combat room, where you'll be given your other two tests, both combat-related. The first test will be that of mech-handling ability. I myself wouldn't give a rat's ass about how well you can fight hand-to-hand or with a gun. Mechs are the heavy artillery of any good army, and without competent drivers, well--suffice it to say that we in Repliforce want to be a good army, the best army. Now, two pairs of combatants will fight each other, but there will be no winner nor loser. We just want to see how well you handle them, that's all. Who'll volunteer first?"

"Um...excuse me, I think--" Iris raised her hand timidly, trying once again to get out of this mess.

"Ah, thank you, Thorne! Your brother'd be proud to see such spirit. Anyone else?"

After three more people had been selected, Iris made her way weakly to one of the giant mechs. She stopped in front of it and paled.

It was a huge, dull gray monstrosity, mostly made of towering leg and thick, bulky arms and hard hands made for crushing--she only came up to its knee. It was like a humongous suit of medieval armor with the pilot's cockpit where the helmet should have been.

Oh, I can't pilot that! she thought as she stared up at the mech; and then she added, not for the first time: I wish my brother was here.

Despite the numbness in her limbs, Iris managed to climb up the footholds embedded in the back of the mech and slide herself down into the cockpit.

One rides in a mech standing up, but the machine had last been used by a Reploid taller than Iris, and didn't know how to adjust the grate at her feet: she had to stand on her tiptoes to see. She looked around and found the button that closed the cockpit; a Plexiglas dome swished closed over her head.

The controls before her were deceptively simple: just two handles like joysticks, and two buttons, one of which was the control of the cockpit cover.

Feeling a very strong sense of doom, Iris pushed the remaining button with a heavy heart, and, to her surprise and terror, the mech's engine hummed to life. Iris tentatively grasped the 'joysticks' and pushed them forward--and, with a deafening grating sound, the monstrosity lurched forward!

Iris's opponent, a red mech, came out to meet her; Iris nearly crashed into it because she didn't know how to stop. She reflexively jerked back on the handles in her fright, which caused the mech to halt in its tracks, humming silently.

"You two," came a scratchy voice out of the speaker--obviously one of the people in the control room--on her control panel, "when I give permission, you two have at it. Remember, this isn't to the death: do not destroy the mechs. We need them for later."

"Yessir," Iris whispered, nodding despite the fact that the controller probably couldn't hear nor see her. After a few seconds, the voice cried out, "GO!"

Iris went, all right: she shoved the handles forward and rushed into the other mech, shoving it up against the training room wall. The red mech then began pounding her, trying to force her off. Iris's teeth rattled as the cabin started throwing her about. She pulled back and retreated, trying to regain her addled wits.

The red mech wasted no time and charged her; but before it could land a blow, Iris squeezed on the left handle--the signal for a left punch. The red mech caught her metal fist right in the chest, pushing it back. Once again, the recoil left Iris reeling. But despite her fear and nervousness, she felt a sense of exhilaration: she was actually quite good at this, and had no previous training. She was a natural! It was a great feeling--

The red mech's renewed onslaught brought Iris out of her happy little world, and she was bounced and bruised as she was hurled up against all four sides of the cockpit. In her desperation, Iris squeezed both handles and began fighting back; both mechs were thrown about as they rained flurries of punches on each other.

"Stop!" the voice squawked, startling her; with a sigh of relief, Iris retreated back to her corner. She parked the mech in a very awkward angle, but she didn't care.

As she stumbled dizzily out of the mech, she and her former foe shook hands; her proctor looked at her with what could have been considered a pleased look.

"Not bad, not bad. You'll need work, of course, but you've got some talent, there, both of you. Next!!"

For about thirty minutes, Iris took the opportunity to catch her breath and collect her scattered thoughts as the others took their turns in the mechs. And, she couldn't help but observe with some pride, compared with most of the group, she was actually a good mech driver: only the members who had received some form of mech training or had been operators of heavy machinery beforehand performed better than she did.

"Now, the last test. As a member of the Repliforce, you will be expected to have a natural athletic and combat ability--or at least the ability to learn such skills. Those gentlemen up there will simulate various enemies for you all to fight. They are not real, but if they nail you, you're going to feel the pain. Believe me. It won't harm you, but it'll hurt like nothing else."

The proctor then brought out a large ammunitions case and handed out weapons to the applicants who weren't equipped with arm cannons or beam-sabers. Iris herself was handed a small yet powerful laser rifle.

Without a word the proctor signaled again to the technicians, and suddenly the room was plunged into complete darkness; some of the female applicants yelped.

The lights returned, but before them Iris saw a small army of battle drones of all types, and even some floating balls, which, from the looks of things, shot lasers. Iris seriously thought about holding her breath until she passed out, but the drones would have probably just trampled on her head, so she decided against it. The drones then charged.

Iris never did remember much of the fight, mostly because she was so frightened: she, like most other people, did not care much for being in a position where she could be shocked, bruised, or worse.

Besides, everything happened so fast. One moment Iris was standing still, clutching the rifle to her chest, the next she was shooting blindly at enemies who were stinging the hell out of her--the proctor had been right, those things did hurt...and how!

She was hit so many times that Iris was thrown into a freak of desperation; her aim, already bad, was now atrocious. She managed to shoot her fellow applicants on three occasions. If her rifle hadn't been set to 'stun', then her teammates would have been dropping like flies. Nasty words were shouted at her, but she was too busy being stung to hear them.

The worst was reserved for the end. One of the drones managed to nail Iris right in the small of her back; her legs, weakened by the pain, suddenly gave out, and she toppled head over heels, not stopping until she hit the wall, coming to a rest with her head on the ground and her legs folded over backwards. It was awkward and extremely painful, and her legs were in such a position that her skirt had fallen down to her thighs--prompting the males to hoot and holler.

"Oh, my Gawd!" one voice marveled. "Wouldja look at that--"

Iris stifled a gasp and quickly flopped over backwards onto her knees; her cheeks throbbed as her face became a mask of bright pink. The laughter continued, and the proctor stepped forward.

"I think," he said, "that you're a bit out of your league, girl. I've seen your type before: all preppy and stuck-up just because you live in a nice house and have preppy humans to nursemaid you. Hmph--I bet you've never had to sleep in a stasis pod. A nice, cushy bed is all that'd do you for you. Tenderfeet! Shouldn't be allowed within three miles of the H.Q.!"

"Hey, man," one of the spectators cautioned, "lay off a bit, will ya? She is the Colonel's sister...and Dr. Thorne's her creator."

"Colonel and Dr. Thorne never fired anybody just because they told the truth," the proctor snapped. "She's a tenderfoot, and she knows it; everybody knows it. You go home to Daddy and Big Brother, now, little girl. Go on home."

He stared down at her, waiting for her to get up, but Iris had frozen into place. The blood throbbed in her ears, and she was made dumb by the utter shame and embarrassment, and for one moment she forgot where she was; the room blurred in and out of focus. Her chin quivered, but no tears came.

An outraged squawk sounded faintly in her ears. She shook her head and blinked her eyes to clear out the fuzziness, and what she saw made her drop her jaw.

Spiral, who had been passing by, his shift in security ended, had heard the sounds in the room and had stuck in his head to get a view of the action. And he had caught every word that the proctor said. And now he was dive-bombing the proctor, spinning the hapless Reploid this way and that, screaming things in a high squeal at the top of his lungs that probably weren't very complimentary.

After he had batted the proctor around like a pinata for a few seconds--everyone was too surprised to intervene--Spiral gave his victim a good kick in the posterior and glided over to Iris, standing stolidly in front of her.

"I don't know who you think you jack-asses are," Spiral growled, "but if you think you can insult and make a fool out of my friend, then you've got something else coming!"

"Spiral, you idiot! She had it coming--you should have seen her perform..." someone began, but the pegasus gave him a look that was pure poison.

"Shut your hole! I don't care what happened--you just don't treat her like that. You just don't. She's really shy and can't handle flak from assholes like you."

"I don't care about her feelings! So she's sensitive...I'm not going to make special concessions just for her," the proctor spat, wiping off some circulatory fluids that were dripping from his nose.

"Maybe you don't care--but I do. And I'll be damned if I'll ever let my friend be treated like that and stand still for it! So you. Just. Shut. The. Hell. Up." Spiral's flared nostrils quivered and his wings were rigidly spread out as far as they were able; in short, he looked as enraged as all hell.

Iris felt herself being gently lifted up; Spiral supported her weight and practically carried her out of the training room. When they were in the corridor, Iris let go of him and sank down into a sitting position, fanning her hot face with her beret, trying to choke back tears. Spiral sat down next to her and gave her cheek a timid, but friendly, horsy lick; his breath smelt of fresh grass.

"You okay? What the heck happened in there? If you don't mind my saying so, I didn't think you'd be trying out for a soldier's position..." the pegasus whickered, his ears askew in confusion. Iris managed a small laugh and shook her head, holding up a hand for silence.

"I'll be all right. I'll be all right. I really don't want to talk about it. I think that someone screwed up. I didn't apply for a combat position, but...I got sent here anyway! Some clerical error, I suppose."

"What're you going to do now?"

"I want to go home," Iris said thickly, closing her eyes--she felt so overwhelmingly homesick and ashamed to be seen that she nearly began to cry again.

"We-ell," Spiral hedged, looking up at the ceiling, "I could take you. I'm off my shift, and nobody cares what I do, anyway."

"The resident trouble-maker, hmm?" Iris couldn't help but grin a little.

"In the metal."

"But I don't want to get you into any more deep water than I already have...I mean, you're not going to be getting away with that little scene you caused without some punishment. I might have gotten you court-martialed, for all I know!"

"Bah! They're used to me, here. Besides, I can't go to jail for defending a friend. And if I can, I'd gladly leave if a person can't stand up and say what he thinks. I've gotten away with worse," Spiral shook his head derisively, looking quite smug. "So, do you want to be taken home or not? Your call."

"Please." Iris could have nearly kissed him for sheer relief. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

She got up and followed Spiral out of the building; when they reached the courtyard, Spiral stopped. He looked a bit embarrassed.

"Okay, um..." he began, tugging at one of his ears shyly, "well...you see..eh heh..well, Iris, here's the deal: unless you want to be tugged along like a piece of laundry, then you'll have to...um..."

"Oh, don't worry about it!" Iris laughed, patting his arm reassuringly. "Don't feel embarrassed. I won't mind."

"Good! Good!" Spiral breathed a bit more easily. "Well, I'm ready when you are."

He lifted Iris into his arms, taking care to be touching the hollows of her knees and her lower back only; Iris put one arm around his neck for extra support.

"Ack! Too tight, too tight! There. Ready? Away we go!" Spiral ignited his boosters and they soared off into the sky, leaving the Repliforce H.Q. behind. And good riddance.

*************

On the way home, Iris found out something: it was Spiral's ambition to defy the laws of physics as often as he could. Think of the fastest, scariest, most gut-wrenching roller coaster you have ever ridden. Now imagine riding it without any restraining harnesses and at nearly five hundred feet above the ground, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what her journey with Spiral was like.

"Ah! This is da life, isn't it, Iris?" Spiral asked happily while performing a barrel roll; Iris grimaced and clung to him tighter.

"Please, Spiral, could we stop for a moment?" she requested, shouting over the screaming winds. "I need a break!"

"Wimp," Spiral scoffed, but he dropped down to about forty feet above ground and started skimming for a suitable place to land. After some searching, he located an empty patch of space in a park, and he executed a bumpy landing.

Iris pried herself off the pegasus and stumbled a few paces; then she put her hands on her knees and hunched forward, panting heavily.

"Oh, come on! It wasn't that bad," Spiral snorted, crossing his arms and grinning.

"Says you," Iris gasped, shooting him a look. "Listen, I'm going to walk around for a few minutes to get my bearings back. I think you've scrambled some of my wires, Spiral."

"Waah. You go off and have yourself a bang-up time. I'll be here," Spiral airily waved his hand expansively over the area; Iris smiled and left him to his own devices.

*************

As she walked along the sidewalk, her head began to clear, and a vague sense of alarm began to form in Iris's mind. She had failed. Never mind that it had been a mistake--she had failed her creator and brother miserably. The sordid little details of her embarrassment would spread around the Repliforce barracks like a vicious disease, and eventually her brother would hear of it, and he'd surely tell her creator, and what then?

Immediately she began to fear the worst: her creator would be extremely angry--maybe even have her reprogrammed, or dismantled altogether! He certainly had the power and the means to do it.

Panic set in, and Iris began to run for absolutely no reason at all--she simply had to do something, anything.

She suddenly skidded to a halt, barely missing barreling over a group of humans. She looked around, and found that she was no longer on the sidewalk: she had stumbled into a grassy knoll covered with people, people who were watching a small group of musicians up on a raised platform.

Iris, her curiosity piqued, watched the little musical group set up their instruments, tuning and polishing them. There were some various string players, a trombonist, some woodwinds, a couple of trumpeters, and a drummer. A man dressed in a nice suit--the conductor, she deduced--appeared in front of the group and bowed to the now-applauding audience. After the applause had stopped, the conductor turned to his group, raised his baton, and then brought it down.

What happened next was miraculous.

Iris had been programmed with libraries of mathematical, scientific, and linguistic information, but she had only the barest bones of musical knowledge--only the definitions of certain words such as clef, bar, and note. She had also heard various forms of music from television, radios, and other sources, but she had never actually seen music made. Until now. And she was enthralled by it.

The music, unhindered by any middle medium, throbbed and pulsed in her ears with a fresh, raw, exciting sound, wrapping her in a cocoon of wonder and awe. She looked at the hands of the string players--how delicate yet how strong they were, caressing the strings, vibrating along with the notes! She looked at flying fingers, the pursed mouths, the beads of concentric sweat forming on the musicians' brows--and it all seemed beautiful to her.

Iris closed her eyes and let the new sensations sweep all around her, soaking up every note into her brain and mulling over it just like a gormet savors the smell of his food before gobbling it all up. The more she heard, the more she wanted to hear: her brain analyzed every single note and dissected its beauty.

All too soon, the music ended, and Iris reluctantly opened her eyes. She watched the human musicians prepare for the next piece, and she felt envious of them--if only she could be up there with them, in the very heart of the music!

But she couldn't stay any longer: Spiral was waiting for her. Sadly, Iris turned and went back the way she came, and her heart ached.

*************

"Well, there you are! You certainly took your sweet time!" Spiral called to Iris when she came into sight. She didn't feel like answering his teasing--she was too wrapped up in the memories of the beautiful experience she had just gone through.

"What's with the goofy face? You didn't get a spiked oil drink, did you?" Spiral demanded, peering into her face; it was then that Iris noted some blades of grass wedged in between his big, square teeth.

"No, I did not," she responded flatly, "but it certainly looks like you've been treating yourself. You eat grass to get your energy?"

"Well, duh. Y'see, these here," Spiral opened up his mouth wider to display his flat teeth, "aren't suitable for eating normal foods--synthetic or not. I've got a special converter that turns the fiber and other stuff into energy. Ain't it grand?"

"Very nice," Iris sighed. "Can I go home now?"

"But of course. All aboard!"

He lifted Iris into his arms and shot off like a rocket--much to his passenger's distress.

*************

Before long, Spiral landed on the front lawn outside the Thorne residence.

"Well, my doom awaits," Iris sighed, her gloom descending over her again. "Thank you, Spiral. You don't know how grateful I am to you. I hope you don't get into trouble."

"Like I said, they're used to it. Now, don't you worry. Everything's going to be fine!"

"Said Custer to his troops," Iris muttered, but she couldn't help but smile at him.

Spiral rolled his eyes and snickered, "Your gloom is magnificent. One day you're going to be on so much depression medication, you're going to need an IV. I can see it like a vision!" He spread out his hands in front of her face.

Iris decided not to take the bait; instead, she settled for patting him fondly on the muzzle. "I suppose you're right. I'll live. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"You can count on that. See ya, sweetie!" Spiral whooped, performing a beautiful back-flip as he ignited his engines. Iris waved as he departed, and then entered the house.

*************

The house was empty, of course, and Iris didn't expect the other members of her family to arrive for lunch. She flopped on a couch and, inexorably, her mind mulled over her failure.

That old panic set in again, and Iris grabbed a pillow and pulled and pushed at it desperately, a small humming cry escaping from her closed lips as she rocked back and forth, back and forth. She imagined her creator's response over and over, each time he grew angrier and the punishment grew more dire. And she ached for her brother, and wished over and over that he would be the first to come home--then she could confess to him, and perhaps he'd help her face up to the doctor.

The hours that followed were pure torture: sick with fear, lacking the heart to do anything except wander aimlessly through the horrible emptiness of the house, Iris simply sprawled out on the couch, hiding her face in the pillows. She missed lunch, but she had gotten enough energy from breakfast and her recharge that it didn't matter

Finally, after the slow hours, minutes, and seconds, the dreaded hour came, around six o' clock. The garage door opened and closed; Iris jumped and scrambled out of the chair, her hands twitching nervously. She felt sick to her stomach.

"Iris, I'm home!"

"Hello, Sir!" Iris called back, trying to keep her voice calm.

Dr. Thorne poked his head into the living room door and smiled widely at her.

"Ah, here you are!"

He came into the room and advanced on her, his face shining with expectation.

"Well?" he inquired cheerfully. "How did it go?"

She couldn't keep his gaze; Iris dropped her eyes to the floor and blanched.

"Oh, Sir--I...I..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Sir, they messed up my application form--they thought I was trying out for a combat position, and...It was terrible," Iris's voice fell to an almost inaudible whisper, and she was trembling at what he would say to her.

"Well," Dr. Thorne said after a long pause, "that's quite all right, Iris. It wasn't your fault. You can always try again tomorrow."

"N-No," Iris stammered, much to her own horror; was that really her voice that spoke up?

"Come again?" Dr. Thorne asked, his gray brows moving closer together.

"I'm not going back to the Repliforce." Iris couldn't believe it; it was if the words were spilling out of her mouth without her telling them to. What monstrous audacity!

"And what," Thorne's voice was calm, deliberate, and utterly horrible, "do you mean by that, my girl?"

"I mean--that is, I just feel--Oh, I can't go back there! I'd die of the shame. They'd laugh at me and abuse and haze me, and--"

"Iris Thorne," the doctor snapped, advancing on her, causing her to retreat against the wall, "do you forget that you're my creation? You will go back and apply again--and that's an order!" His benign attitude had completely dissolved at his prodigal creation's stubbornness.

Iris shook her head--and for some reason, this set off Thorne's temper. Normally, Thorne was a calm, cool man, but when he was incensed, it was a wise idea to go into hiding and not come into contact with him for a few days.

"Why," he sputtered, his voice shaking, "you little coward. That's what you are: a little coward! Too scared to try again! I've never heard anything so foolish in my entire life. You keep it up, and you'll never be of any use to anyone!"

"Please, Sir!!"

"You be quiet! You're going back first thing tomorrow. And that's final!"

But it wasn't just Dr. Thorne who was losing his cool. Despite of her fear, a sense of desperation welled up within Iris's spirit: she would not, could not go back to the place of her humiliation, and if it didn't sit well with her creator--well, to hell with it!

"No!" she screamed at the top of her lungs and flattened up against the wall, her voice strident. "I'm not going back! You can't make me, you old goat!!"

"Why, you insolent little--! How dare you talk to me that way! Got a lot to say, haven't you?! God damn it all, what a little hellcat I've created! If you don't shape up and show your creator some respect, little miss, I'm going to take you back to the lab and have that wretched CPU removed!" Thorne roared, his mouth drawn into a hatchet-sharp line, and snapped his fingers in her face, barely missing the tip of her nose.

"I'm not going! Don't you lay a hand on me, old man!" Iris cried. She was nearly fainting with the terror and hurt, but she simply was determined not to go back: he'd have to tie her up and drag her all the way back if he wanted that.

Dr. Thorne didn't respond to her words. Instead, much to his creation's horror, his face turned a bright purplish-red, and the veins of his neck and forehead started to show and throb. His breathing became labored, and his eyes--his old, hard eyes--were flashing terribly at her. He looked like he was choking on his own rage.

There was a flash of black and white in front of Iris's eyes. She blinked, and then saw Colonel--or, at least, the back of him. The two had been so engaged in their familial fracas that they had not heard him teleport in, nor did they see his form come into the doorway, nor did they hear his heavy footsteps. Colonel now eased their gasping creator down to a chair, kneeling beside the old man and speaking in firm yet soothing tones. The doctor's breathing came easier and his face lost a little of its red color, but his flashing eyes were now glassy and pain-racked.

Colonel turned a genuinely angry face to Iris. "Iris," he snapped the words out as if they were red-hot crisps of fat, "get out of here! Go on, get out of here! You've upset him enough for one night--get out!!"

She didn't need to be told twice: hurt because her brother ha never yelled at her before, and terrorized at the sound of his voice, Iris pried herself off the wall and rushed out of the room, the view before her going fuzzy with unspilt tears.

*************

Iris exited the room in a haze of vast, overwhelming shame, hurt, and frustration; she could barely see where she was going, but her legs involuntarily staggered towards the recreation room. She dropped underneath one of the pool tables and stared up at its grainy, lacquered wood; her breath was hot and sticky and bitter-tasting in her mouth, but no tears came. She simply looked up at the underside of the table.

She tried to blot out the memories of what had been done and said, but she could not delete the view of her creator's angry face, the veins on his forehead throbbing wildly and his eyes beetling under his brows; that rough, choked voice grated incessantly in her ears, repeating all of those horrible words; she still felt that searing, strangling sensation in up and down her guts.

Iris was not angry--she was too hurt and flustered to feel any sense of resentment. As she stared upwards blankly, her thoughts congealed into this one conclusion: It seemed beyond her power to be able to do anything right. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how good her intentions, she would never be able to be useful to anyone or anything.

But why was this?--the question spontaneously popped into her mind. Surely, there had to be some explanation to why she had failed! But what? What was the reason?

Iris pondered on this. There was only one answer that made any sense: It was because she wasn't square, because she wasn't right--some internal flaw within her personality was to blame. She was flawed.

A small moaning sound erupted from deep inside her chest, and Iris flopped over onto her side, cradling her head in her arms, her eyes closed tight; a small trickle of saliva made its way down the side of her mouth.

She never knew how much time had passed after that--perhaps it had been an hour, maybe only a few minutes; but in the deep, black vortex of her misery, time did not matter to her--she was uncomprehending of all things except her own twisting, excruciating thoughts.

The dull, heavy sound and feel of footsteps broke her out of her little cocoon. She warily opened one dull eye and numbly observed as the footsteps stopped outside the rec room door; the door swung open, and she saw a familiar pair of metal boots.

Iris did not stir, even as her brother's feet came inexorably towards the pool table. She didn't care what happened, even when the boots stepped within three inches of her nose.

"Iris."

Her brother's voice was neutral, as it often was, but there was a certain edge to it that stirred up a feeling of apprehension. She gritted her teeth and waited.

"Get up."

Now she knew she was in for it--Colonel only used such curt brevity when he was extremely agitated and displeased. For a brief moment, Iris wished to the heavens that she had one of those little cyanide pills with her to swallow. She had never seen (or heard) her brother so angry before and was afraid to come out, but dared not to do otherwise. She reluctantly emerged from underneath the table.

"So," Colonel said, his eyes scowling in his passive face, "hiding under your rock, I see. Are you done?"

Iris's face flinched, but she reached out for him and practically threw herself against his hard armor, which did not yield to her touch. She peered up at him and saw no change in his demeanor.

"Iris, listen to me," he continued, disengaging her arms from around himself. "Stop sniffling. Come on, stand up straight!" He reached out and tugged up on her shoulders, and he was not gentle about it, either.

"Listen. I don't care about what happened to you today--your behavior is inexcusable. Look at you! Crawling under a pool table like a mutt! And your actions around our creator were even worse; you don't act that way, Iris. Not to the person who gave you life."

"But...but..." Iris stammered, trying to choke back tears, wringing her hands; Colonel reached out and snapped his index finger against her cheek. It wasn't meant to be brutal or abusive, but it was so unexpected and sharp that it stopped her right in her tracks.

"See? You're doing it again," Colonel said coldly. "Making excuses. Feeling sorry for yourself. Iris, if there is one thing that I hate above all else, it's a person who feels sorry for himself. I don't tolerate it--not from any of my soldiers, and especially not from you. Be quiet, don't cry."

Iris regained her composure and wiped her face.

"Good. Iris, don't antagonize our creator. He's been working very hard lately, he's not young, and he's tired. He doesn't need any trouble at home, understand? We've got to make him feel like he can get some peace here. He certainly can't get it anywhere else."

Iris fought down the impulse to say that Dr. Thorne was the one who had started the whole wretched business, harping on her so about her failure, but she wisely decided against it. Instead, she nodded mutely.

"Go on up to your room," Colonel said, "but don't you dare feel sorry for yourself. Find something to do. Read, write, clean, do anything except mope and fall into a bout of self-pity. By God, maintain some modicum of dignity!" He departed.

For a little while, Iris stood stock still, and only the movement of her breathing and the flickering of her hair across her forehead gave the impression that she was even alive. Suddenly, her jaw clenched. She walked out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.

*************

When she arrived at her room, Iris looked about her blankly. The place had always been tidy, as mess was her mortal enemy, but as she perused over the place, digesting every detail, she saw filth and ruin about her. Dust lay thick on the very tops of the highest shelves. The dark blue carpet needed to be vacuumed--no, it needed to be shampooed. Everything needed to be corrected at once.

For now a irresistible, tugging impulse lodged itself into her brain, overriding all else: she must work. She must make herself useful for once, she must labor long and hard; if she didn't she knew that she would spiral down into the well of detestable self-pity again, and that was something she would never do again. She couldn't bear to feel so utterly wretched again.

Her limbs stirred into action, and suddenly Iris was a whirling dervish of cleanliness. She fetched a rag and dusted everything in sight; the Thorne house had no shampooer, so she had to make do with vacuuming; the bed was remade and the covers so meticulously taut that there was not a wrinkle in them. Then she went over to one of her shelves and rearranged all her few possessions in perfect order. She got out some cleaning fluid from the washing room and washed her bedroom windows spotless and even repositioned the drapes till they were perfectly straight.

Heavy footsteps were heard outside her door, swiftly coming closer. Iris hastily shoved all of her tools into the closet, wiped the slight sweat off her brow, and straightened out her beret before flopping on top of her bed, sitting up.

A brief knock sounded at her door, and after only a moment's pause, the Colonel banged the door in and entered. His barging in through doors always bothered Iris--it was a bad habit he acquired from working with the Repliforce, what with having to frequently check up on his troops and such.

Colonel scanned the room; one eyebrow arched at the sudden cleanliness, but he did not bring up the subject. He instead turned his gaze upon his little sister, and it was detached but not unkind.

"Iris, let's have a little chat, shall we?"

She gave a slight nod, and he gently, very gently, eased himself slowly beside her on the bed, taking care that he didn't break anything with his great weight. He removed his cap, revealing a tousled thatch of brown hair, and cleared his throat.

"He's very upset," he began awkwardly--he obviously didn't know where to start.

"I know," Iris replied; she stared down at her tightly knotted fingers in her lap, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm afraid he's very disappointed in you," he continued slowly, his voice calm but somehow betraying that he hated what he was saying. "I tried to say that you hadn't been quite ready, but he didn't listen."

Iris blanched, but didn't do anything else but say, "I know, I know. I'm sorry that I talked back to him, I really am. I didn't mean to..."

"Of course you didn't. I certainly wasn't expecting him to take it so hard. But he truly wants you to join up with the Repliforce, Iris. It's his wish. Couldn't you try again, for his sake?"

"No," Iris said, the firmness entering her voice again. "For the last time, no! I'm sorry, Brother, but I just can't do it. I just can't."

"Can't, or won't?" Colonel demanded; he spoke to her like he would a disobedient recruit.

"Oh, fine," Iris sighed, trying her best not to whine or sound like a shrew, but not quite certain if she was succeeding, "I won't do it. Because if I ever went back, I couldn't--couldn't--hold up my head for shame. I embarrassed myself and the whole family...oh, it was bad. The Repliforce isn't for me, brother. It just isn't."

A long pause. Iris felt her brother's eyes bore into her, and she fidgeted with her hands as he regarded her coolly. She couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"What happened there, Iris? I want to know what was so horrible that it prevents you from even trying to redeem yourself," he demanded gently, but in a voice that brooked no refusal.

Iris recapped the whole affair in the training room truthfully, omitting nothing; sometimes she spoke so swiftly that the words slurred together, but, except for a certain red tinge to her cheeks, she remained calm.

When she got to the part about toppling head over heels and giving everybody a good glimpse of her gluteus maximus, Colonel put his hand over his mouth. She continued on, even though she began to fume internally; she knew him too well to know that trick, trying to look stern and concerned. He was smirking at her.

He removed his hand after she had ended her tale, trying to look very sympathetic yet stern, but not quite pulling it off; the smallest hint of a smile twitched at one corner of his mouth.

"So, that's how it all started," he said gravely. "I will see to it that nothing of that sort happens again. Sergeant Parkerson is a good, competent officer, but she can't watch all of her staff at once, and some of those clerks--I swear, they can be nasty. Clerks." He almost snorted the word. "Most of them are good, decent men, but when they're not...they can an absolute disgrace. Even Sergeant Parkerson has been lodging some complaints. There needs to be an overhaul of that department, soon."

"I wouldn't want them to lose their jobs just because of me," Iris said softly. Colonel shook his head and responded: "They were like that a long time before you came along, Iris. It's my duty to make sure that everything runs smoothly in the Repliforce, and if a few clerks are causing trouble...well, then they've just got to go! It's the part of my job I least like, but it must be done. God knows I've discharged people before, and I'll do it again. Don't worry about it."

"But," he continued, his voice a bit lighter, "I must remember to commend Spiral. He did well, helping you out. A good soldier, a very good soldier, despite...some aspects of his personality."

Iris managed a small laugh, and she cheered up some at the memory of the kindness. "Oh, yes! Isn't he the best? Good old Spiral! I like him so much." Then she remembered. "He won't get in trouble, will he?"

"No...we've come to expect it from him. I'll be sure to censure him, but nothing more. And I think that he would gladly return your sentiment," Colonel said, a touch of smug dryness in his voice and eyes. Iris then realized her mistake. "He likes you, too."

"Oh, great. Just great! I'm going to be pursued by a love-struck horse!" Iris groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "Just what I needed."

Colonel didn't say anything; he merely chuckled lightly.

"It's not funny!" Iris cried, exasperated beyond belief. "I think the world of Spiral, he's been so kind to me, and I want to be his friend...but not like that!"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Colonel assured her gently, "I know Spiral. He's by nature very chivalrous, and quite a rake. He flirts with every girl he knows. It's his way of showing affection. But he really is quite fond of you and desires your friendship."

"I'll gladly give it to him. I want to be his friend, too. I just don't want to get his hopes up."

"He'll get the hint. You won't break his heart; he's too resilient. But, now, Iris, back to the original subject. I really don't see why you can't reapply for a position. There's no reason for you not to. It was a mistake, Iris, and you can't let something as trivial as that stop you. It would mean so much--to both me and our creator. Iris, don't you want to...to make something of yourself? You would start of slowly, but I am sure you would rise to an honorable, respectable position. Isn't that what you want?" Colonel's voice grew stern at the last few questions, spitting them out like he was a part of the Inquisition; there was nothing cajoling about them.

Iris licked her lips nervously at the severe tone and had to calm her wits and think a moment.

"Sometimes," she began slowly, idly tracing designs on her knee with her finger, "I would like to be more than I am. Something better. But it just doesn't feel right, working in the Repliforce. I don't know if it's the military aspect, my embarrassment, or what. It's not for me. I just can't work in large, organized groups. I feel so small--even smaller and more insignificant than I do at home, but when I screw up everybody seems to know about it. At least when I'm here, I'm happy. I don't know why. I just love it here."

"But Iris, you can't live like a hermit! It's just not healthy. You must do something with yourself. I won't have it. It is your duty to be of help to the humans, to other reploids, to society."

"There must be some other ways than just being a member of Repliforce," Iris mused, her smooth voice belying a thread of terror.

"You're impossible. Simply impossible," Colonel snapped, crossing his arms; his neutral demeanor was crumbling.

"No, I'm not. I'm just thinking aloud. But I really want a quiet life, I really do." Iris paused a little and scanned her thoughts; one image stuck out in her mind, and she decided to take a gamble and talk to him about it.

"When Spiral took me home, we passed by the park," she said, "and there was a small little symphony playing, a nothing fancy, all local talent. When I stopped to listen, I felt happy. I really can't describe it. I don't know anything about music, but...I really enjoyed it."

"Well, of course," Colonel replied. "Music is a great thing. We both listen to it all the time. But Iris, I don't see--"
"You misunderstand. I don't just want to listen to it. I want to play it. I don't know why, I just do. When I listened to the music and saw those people playing...It was gorgeous. Everything seemed to melt together. I want to be a part of it."

Colonel put his hand up to his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "He won't like it. Not at all. A reploid musician. It's not cricket."

Iris's heart crashed and she felt horrible once more. "I thought our creator liked music, too."

"He does. But, well...he likes it, but doesn't understand it. He thinks it's a frivolous profession, and it doesn't pay well to boot--unless you're one of those rock stars. Iris, I've never heard of such a thing! Music's fine, I suppose, but I can't fathom how you can love it so much just because of a little gathering in a park. It's irrational behavior. Besides, what symphony would ever take a reploid?"

"I didn't say it was going to be a profession," Iris said, trying to cover the wounded sound in her voice, "I just want to try it out, that's all. Brother, I just need some more time to adjust. I want to try out a few things, see what fits me best. I want to learn things, do some studying. Lots of reading. Perhaps I can find a job that I'll really enjoy and do well at. And maybe I'll save enough money to buy me a nice, cheap violin--it's my favorite instrument." She laughed lightly. "But, of course, I'm just rambling. I should take it one day at a time and think about the present."

"It's good to think ahead. And perhaps you are a late bloomer. We'll take it one day at a time," Colonel said slowly. "But don't you think you can just sit around and twiddle your thumbs all day. You're going to work around this house."

"That's what I had in mind, and I think it's a glorious set-up. I'll enjoy it."

"My sister, the recluse. Emily Dickinson, eat your heart out," Colonel muttered acerbicly; Iris giggled.

"I might have some people over once in a while," she mused amusedly. "Spiral would like to come over a lot, I think." Her voice now grew serious.

"You're not disappointed in me, are you, Brother?"

Colonel reached over and placed a heavy hand on her head, a gesture he had never done nor would do again, and he said, "Of course not. I am a bit disappointed that you've given up so easily, but I am not disappointed in you. But I see now that you're much more...delicate than I originally thought. You feel things more acutely than most...you're very sensitive, I see that now. I always had an idea, but..." He peered into her face, re-evaluating her; she flinched under his gaze.

"But it doesn't matter. Truth be told, Iris, I am rather pleased. Do you know that you're the first person that I have ever felt truly close to? I can talk with you about things that I don't bring up with our creator, and my men expect me to be distant...and I oblige them. It's good to have someone to talk to." Colonel suddenly looked rather abashed, and he gently lifted himself up off the bed.

"It's been a rough day. Go to sleep, little sister." He turned to go out the door, and then, over his shoulder, he added, "And by the way, I saw the results of your written test. You flunked."

"Oh, I hate you!" Iris half-shouted, half-giggled; she grabbed one of her pillows and chunked it at him. He caught it easily and threw it right back.

"There are only two things I truly love in this world," he said, his levity replaced by his usual solemnity. "One is the Repliforce. And the other is you. Just remember that."

He left her then, and Iris felt a warm burble in her chest; she was wanted! And from that moment on, her brother had always won her unwavering loyalty and love--she felt ready to die for him. She never did forget his sometimes strange and awkward, but sincere, kindness, and was forever in his debt.

Iris sank back down into her pillows: her heart was aching, her body was bruised and her back and neck were strained with whiplash, but she felt hopeful. She shucked off her arm and leg-guards and threw them unceremoniously into the closet--she'd never need them again. She took off her beret and looked at it, and decided to keep it: she thought it looked good on her. She did remember to carefully remove the Repliforce insignia, though; knowing her luck, she'd probably be arrested for impersonating an officer if she left it on.

Iris closed her eyes and smiled.

Things would be fine as long as her brother was with her. She was sure of it.