CHAPTER FOUR: DADDY

Quick Note: I declare this chapter a total piece of crud. I don't like it at all. But don't worry! It'll get better (I hope!). You deserve a Purple Heart. :)

The next day after the fight, Iris entrenched herself in a totally new lifestyle, and soon everything became structured into a set routine.

Each and every morning, she rose up at five o' clock and went into the kitchen, taking about an hour to decide on and prepare breakfast; after she washed the dishes and cleaned up, Iris then saw her family off to the workplace.

It was after both men had gone that she really got down to business. The house was large enough that it was very easy to find at least one big cleaning job every day. There were many shelves to dust, rugs to beat, carpets to clean, creaky windows to fix, flowers to tend to, grass to cut. Iris worked tirelessly, and kept the whole place gleaming clean.

When the housework had been completed, Iris usually had quite a bit of time for her own leisure. Then at five o' clock, it was time to start fixing dinner; unless there was some dire urgency or surprise meeting, her creator and brother were both home at around six. If he wasn't too preoccupied, she usually spent the remainder of the evening with Colonel, retiring to bed at nine thirty. This little agenda, simple as it was, never altered once, even on the weekends; Colonel and her creator's duties were so many and pressing, they were usually on call. Which was just fine as far as Iris was concerned. It felt nice, after the long bout of sudden changes and revelations which had come after her creation, to have something predictable and dependable, despite that she often missed her brother terribly.

The hardest time of the day for the reploid was the space between the chores and dinner, when she had nothing to do. Iris simply could not stomach sitting on a chair, watching early afternoon television (which usually consisted of soap operas and infomercials about feminine hygiene products), the winds from the open windows rustling aimlessly about her and through the empty rooms. The silence was almost horrible at times. And there were always those rebellious, self-pitying thoughts lurking in the back of her mind, waiting to spring on her when she could no resist any longer, waiting to reduce her back into a sobbing fit, her greatest fear.

Iris came up with several ways to make this time slot a little more bearable. Dr. Thorne's personal library was large and full of interesting things--she spent a good deal of her time reading books and magazines, though sometimes their meanings were lost on her. She also enjoyed listening to music, both on stereo and radio; she went for walks. Iris also set about the business of finding some type of employment that suited her. She really did look around in earnest, but nothing either suited or appealed to her. Over a few days, her fervor died down, the shyness took over, and it became evident that she wasn't going to be taking any drastic steps anytime soon, much to Dr. Thorne's chagrin.

Dr. Thorne's initial anger had disappeared, but it was still difficult for Iris to live at peace with him. Most of the time, he was decent enough to her, and there were no more ugly confrontations, but he treated her with a coolness that could almost be reckoned as indifferent. Sometimes snide remarks would fall from his lips, but they were few and far between. She could speak to him about certain things, but Iris knew he wasn't really listening to her--he had totally given up on her ever making something of herself. Eventually the reploid abandoned the notion of telling him anything meaningful, not even caring to say when she disagreed with him on something. Occasionally he would give her a look when he was especially weary and irritated, a look that frightened her and almost felt like it physically hurt her; Iris felt absolutely sure he would rip out her accursed CPU and replace it at such glances. Still, she masked her feelings behind a smile and sprang up at his every beck and call, waiting silently in the shadows when she was alone in the room with him. She had promised her brother that she'd give the old man no more grief.

The more time passed, the more Iris withdrew within the recesses of the house, never emerging out from beyond the front yard unless going on necessary shopping trips. In truth, she was scared of the world outside the sphere of her home. The newspapers and television told of nothing but catastrophe, dolor, and cruelty, and her own infrequent experiences only reinforced what she heard and saw. Iris was particularly shocked once when she made a grocery shopping trip: there, working at the check-out as a bag lady, was an ancient woman, probably eighty years old. The old woman's thin, blue-veined hands had shook as she put items into a motorized cart which followed customers to their cars. It nearly broke Iris's heart, and she never could get the image out of her mind after that.

However, despite this rather depressing account, Iris was not unhappy. She liked her work and was content with it, the reading and music gave her stimulation, and she wasn't altogether lonely. Colonel could be fine company when he desired to be, and Spiral came over twice a week for visits (often cutting work to do so). Iris was of the sort of person who did not need many friends; to her, Colonel and Spiral were as good as ten companions. The pegasus made her laugh with his quirky humor, her brother continued to teach her what couldn't be read in books, and both were sympathetic listeners. Dr. Thorne's displeasure did not concern Iris when she was with these two. So what if I disappoint him? she would think to herself. My brother and Spiral love me, and that's all I need.

And the idle hours became more pleasant, no longer filled with the frantic urgency of finding something to occupy the time--due to three particular instances.

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

About a month after the Repliforce fiasco, Colonel had come home early from work, a parcel held under his arm.

"Sister, I have here something that I think will please you very much," he said mysteriously, dodging her questions about his early arrival. He handed over the wrapped rectangular bundle, and Iris ripped open the paper.

Iris looked down at the gift: a violin case made of durable, rough, shiny red material lined with black.

Inside the case, cradled in velvet, a full-sized instrument of premium-grade wood winked up at her. It wasn't the professional high-quality sort, but very well suited for her needs. On the underside of the lid was a pocket which held some sheets of music, including a chart which displayed all the different notes and bowings, correct posture, and everything a beginner would require.

The reploid screamed with delight and threw her arms around Colonel's neck, nearly throttling him. He managed to extricate himself eventually, attempting to regain his dignity.

"I paid a good sum for those things," he said with a perfectly straight face, "and you had better practice, Iris. If not, some singularly unpleasant discipline will be called for. I don't think you would enjoy that."

"Don't worry about a thing," Iris said, face flushed with pure joy. "Oh, Brother, thank you! You don't know how happy you've made me. Is this a face that would let you down?" She nearly wept.

She practiced learning the basics every day. At first she sounded atrocious, the strings screeching, then gradually, with tenacity, she improved. Iris knew that she wasn't the best musician in the world, but the thrill and joy she got out of playing her violin overrode the broken strings, strident sounds, and finger calluses. Besides, who was there to hear her, and who was she harming? Colonel went up to her room to listen and give a bit of encouragement every now and then, but he was her only audience--she never practiced when Dr. Thorne was in the house, because Iris knew it would annoy him.

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

The second incident came a few days after Iris received her violin. She had completed the cleaning and was practicing a scale when the front doorbell rang. As she put the instrument down, the bell rang again and again rapidly, almost as if it was jammed.

Extremely surprised that there was a caller at this time of day and a little annoyed at his impatience, Iris quickly opened the door to reveal a Repliforce soldier. The soldier looked almost exactly like her brother--for many of the common ranks were actually based on Colonel's design--except he was smaller and had different trimmings on his uniform. He looked fidgety and nervous.

"Hello," Iris greeted. "How may I help you, Sir?"

"Is this where the Colonel lives?"

"Yes, it is."

"Is he at home, by any chance?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

The soldier stopped his fidgeting and looked down at the ground. "Damn."

Iris immediately knew there was some sort of urgent business about; nothing else would have caused such a breach of protocol. "Excuse me," she said helpfully, "but perhaps I can help. I am the Colonel's sister. What exactly is the problem?"

"You will pardon my speech, ma'am. But I have some classified documents for your brother's perusal only, and I've been trying to contact him all day. Whenever I get to where he used to be, he's never there. All day it's been a game of cat-and-mouse for me, and, frankly, my patience is wearing thin. Somebody told me that he had gone home for the day, but now it's evident that he didn't--"

"No," Iris shook her head, "he never comes home this early in the afternoon."

"That's just splendid. I'll have to go all the way back to the Headquarters, find where he actually is, hope that he doesn't move an inch until I get to him..." The soldier looked like he was going to have a fit. "I don't have time for this! I have more important things to do."

Iris tried to think of an answer when the soldier looked keenly at her, a hopeful gleam on his face.

"Unless...Ma'am, do you think you could deliver these papers? I know it's totally against regulation, but I really am pressed for time. You're his sister--I'm sure they'll let you do it. Tell them it's urgent, and for the Colonel's eyes only. Here, these are the documents, and this pass will get you in wherever you need to go."

"I really don't think--" Iris stammered, totally taken aback at this strange request, but the soldier was already thrusting a packet and a small badge into her hands.

"Come on, I'm sure you can do it," he declared with a hearty nod; before Iris could do anything else, he speed walked briskly away, leaving her in a bit of a quandary.

The reploid stood in the door helplessly for a few moments; then she heaved a sound of defeat. Iris began to talk to herself through her thoughts.

"Well, it looks like I'm stuck. How in all that's good and true does he expect me to go through with this? I have half a mind just to throw these things in the mud." She shook her head. "No, I can't do that. Brother needs these papers. Swell. Ah, what to do? What--to--do? I know! Spiral. He can help me. He'd better."

Iris whirled around and made for the nearest video phone. Spiral had given her the code number for his communication systems, which he kept activated at all times. She had decided not to contact her brother, because she feared he might be in some sort of confidential meeting, and it might bother him. Spiral was free at all times, was never bothered, and had the authority to admit her into the Repliforce H.Q.

After she had dialed the code onto the video phone's pad, a scratchy, faint voice chirped cheerily over the speaker: "Al's Sausage Factory. What's your beef?"

"Spiral, this is Iris."

"I surmised as much, my friend. What can yours truly do you for?"

"To be brief, a Repliforce soldier just came up to my door, said that he had important information to give my brother, but that he had been looking all day and still hadn't found him. And then he just shoved the things into my hands and left me in the lurch. I don't know what else to do, so I'm going to teleport to H.Q. But I need someone to let me in. Could you fly back from wherever you are and give me authorization? I would really appreciate it."

"Would I deny anything to my light o' love?" Spiral crooned over in an utterly saccharine voice. Although he knew now that she would never return his affections, the pegasus had not held one ounce of resentment towards Iris, and was quite content to serve her in any way possible. He still liked to proclaim his feelings every once in a while, simply because it embarrassed and flattered her, and he thought she looked so cute when she blushed.

"Oh, stop it," Iris mumbled, "and thank you very much."

"Don't mention it," Spiral chittered blithely. "I'll be there as soon as I can to let you in."

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

Presently, after only a slight delay to wait for Spiral, Iris found herself once again in the halls of Repliforce Headquarters, trying to look dignified as she hurried nervously along. Bad memories remained in this place for her, and she did not like returning here.

Spiral, ever-helpful, had taken the liberty of inquiring about the recent whereabouts of Colonel when coming to Iris's aid, and had reported that her brother was in yet another meeting, giving the room's location and number. With a little bit of arguing and intimidation on the reploid steed's part, admission to the meeting had been granted, and here she was.

Iris hesitated outside of the conference room for a space; she feared that her brother would be mortified and angered by the interruption. But what was she to do? She had come this far, and she might as jolly well deliver the things. The time for changing anything was long past. Iris realized now with a twisting feeling that she could have simply asked Spiral himself to give Colonel the papers and save herself all the trouble. She wanted to bonk her head against the wall.

Inhaling deeply and steadying her shaking knees the best to her capabilities, Iris knocked on the door and opened it.

Her brother sat at a large oaken table in a room otherwise devoid of furniture; three other reploids were with him, one of them so huge that his mass took up nearly half of a side of the table. He was a regal dull gold in color, sporting a black chin and faceplate which covered up everything below the nose; huge spikes jutted out of his shoulder-plates. This was the General, commander of all the Repliforce. It was the only time Iris ever saw the great reploid in person. She was terrified, even though the goliath looked benign enough.

Iris's eyes flickered over to Colonel, and, besides a muted look of astonishment, he didn't react at all to her arrival. He was not angry at her. Iris felt a reserve of courage well up within her, and she bowed to the distinguished gentlemen, taking off her beret.

"Sirs, I have some confidential documents for the Colonel. Please pardon my interruption, but it was imperative he received these," she spoke up, her voice shaking a bit a first but growing steadier. She felt that she handled the situation very well, and, as she quietly laid the packet in front of Colonel, she knew that he did, too.

Her face was calm as she exited the room; but for the first time in many, many days, Iris glowed with secret pride.

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

Colonel was sufficiently impressed with Iris's performance, more remarkable since it was under duress, that, when he came home that evening, offered her a proposition. She would become his personal secretary, messenger and stewardess, in a sense. The position entailed writing down dictation, filing, organizing, and running messages, along with countless other little things. He hated all the tedious paperwork that the less glamorous side of his position brought in daily, and, by letting his sister help him, relieve him of much of his burden and give her something to do. It was very strange, and Colonel himself never mentioned it once, but a tacit understanding seemed to exist between the two sibling reploids. He somehow knew that Iris was suffering from sever ennui and craved stimulation.

For her part, Iris was delighted. She didn't mind clerical work at all, even, since her 'job' was unofficial, she wouldn't earn a salary. Money didn't matter to her; she had no use for it. Most importantly, she would be repaying her brother, for he had been kind to her throughout her little crises.

The hours then became productive and passed pleasantly enough. Iris worked like a maniac, swift and efficient. Great ledgers with expense accounts were tallied up with facility, letters proofread, some typed, and all from the comfort of home. She became so reliable and useful with just a few weeks' experience, Dr. Thorne started to let her handle some of his affairs. In fact, Iris practically took over the financial dealings of the household, managing the family's bank accounts and paying out the bills. Dr. Thorne had veto power over her and had access to a select few private documents, such as his will, but, in all else, Iris handled the money.

She was extremely happy now. Everything passed by pleasantly and busily, yet Iris still had time to practice, entertain Spiral during his visits, and sit with her brother. The outside world seemed farther away than ever.

Iris did not come to the outside; the outside had to come to her.

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

The third incident was the one that would have the greatest impact on Iris's life, though nothing significant seemed to come from it at first.

It was early evening on a Saturday, and Iris was beginning preliminary preparations for supper, when she heard the front door open and close. Her brother did not come home early very often, but it had happened before on several weekend occasions, so she was not totally surprised.

She went from the kitchen to greet Colonel. As she stepped into the living room, she noticed that the Maverick Hunter Zero was with him. Iris opened her mouth yet made no sound; however, Colonel, though conversing with Zero, noticed her entrance and turned around after completing his sentence.

"Hello, Iris," he said, his eyes more cheerful than the norm. "I do believe you remember Zero."

"Yes, I do," Iris forced out the words, giving the crimson reploid a timid smile, pulling at her fingers. "Nice to meet you again." She looked at her brother. "What brings you home so early?"

"It has been an unusually uneventful day. I was given leave to come home about an hour and a half ago, but Zero and I had a phone conversation before I left, and we decided to spar a little." It was then Iris noticed that both of them had little beads of perspiration spangling their brows, and looked a bit fatigued and hot in the cheeks.

"Well, it looks like you both pulled out all the stops. Won't you both sit down? Would either of you care for a drink?" Iris gestured to the couch, her eyes riveted on the ground.

"Thanks," Zero finally spoke; his voice was actually quite warm, seeming so out of place that Iris peered up at him. The reploid's rather harsh face had a very pleasant look, his lips not smiling but not nearly pressed so tightly together, either. "I'm not really that thirsty now, but I'll probably take you up on that offer later."

"My friend here," Colonel said dryly as he also took a seat, "has a bit of an eye for liquor. Lock up the wine cellar, Sister." Zero gave the soldier a look, but gave his head a bit of a saucy tilt.

"Brother!" Iris chided, feeling much more at ease, "don't insult our guest. You must have done very well in sparring today. You're hardly in ever such a mood as this. Tell me how it came out."

"It was a stalemate. Your brother gave me one hell of a time," Zero answered, nodding in Colonel's direction. "He's one of the few sparring partners that ever gives me any trouble."

The two reploid men chatted about a few trifling things that Iris had nothing to do with, so she waited, quietly attentive. One part of the back of her mind was impatient to get on with dinner.

"Are you ready to take up on the offer of a drink, Zero?" Colonel queried subsequent to a few minutes of their talk. Iris sat up a little straighter in her chair.

"If you please."

"Don't get up, Sister. I shall fetch something suitable." Colonel rose from his seat and disappeared into the kitchen.

Iris felt the hint of a blush creeping into her cheeks as she looked down at her fidgeting fingers; she had no clue as to what to say or do. Of all the times for her brother to be overly hospitable!

Zero fixed his deep green eyes on her with frank curiosity, and he spoke to her:

"To tell you the truth, I let your brother win a few matches. He's an excellent swordsman, but he needs more experience. I didn't have the heart to let him lose, though. He's just so earnest about it."

"Oh, he is! Dueling is one of his passions. He hasn't seen much true combat, so he rarely ever gets to use his skills. But you must have seen a lot of action the past years," Iris said, casting an oblique look at him.

"Yeah."

She searched around frantically for some kind of question. She could not find anything very tactful, so Iris decided in desperation to cut her losses and blurted out, "How many battles have you been in?"

"More than I can remember," Zero said with a slightly sardonic smile. "Haven't taken count."

"What's it like, being a Maverick Hunter?"

"It's nothing special. My unit doesn't see much action since we only get the really bad cases. We only get called on once or twice every six months or so, sometimes even longer than that. I spend the time in between working on patrol or training. There's not much to tell, if you want to know the truth." He shrugged. Iris saw that Zero was sitting at a considerably stiffer angle, and his mouth was firming up again; she sensed that he did not like talking about himself, and that to pry any further would make him withdraw even more.

"I see," she said after a bit. "How did you meet my brother?"

"Some of the other Hunters and I were sent to compile a report on Repliforce's progress--it was when the program had just been fleshed out--and I saw him training. He looked like a good challenge, so I asked if I could spar with him. Gave me a pretty tough time, too, but I beat him. He asked me for some pointers, so I gave him some. It just went uphill from there." He paused. "And you? What do you do all day? It's your turn to talk."

"I don't go out much," Iris said slowly, feeling embarrassed, "and there's not much to say about me, either. I do all the chores around the house, help my brother with his paperwork."

"Sounds pretty boring."

"Oh, it's not that bad. I'm pretty busy most of the time. I usually can find things for me to do in my free time."

"Like what?"

"It's kind of embarrassing," she mumbled; Iris did not like talking about the things she enjoyed, for fear that she would be laughed at.

"Well, I'm not gonna force you to talk about it," Zero shrugged again.

Iris pondered her situation for a moment, and then ventured to speak again, her voice soft and small.

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Of course."

"I like music. I have a violin which my brother got me, and I listen to the stereo all the time. I just like it, that's all. Weird, isn't it?"

"Whatever makes you happy. People say that I like chopping up Mavericks into tiny little pieces, so I guess I can't tell you that you're screwy," Zero said, his voice flattening. For her part, Iris was appalled.

"Do you? Like destroying Mavericks, I mean?"

"It's what I do; I was made for it," Zero said testily. "I don't regret anything. If they're a menace to society and won't come to terms, then they must be destroyed. Going out into the hunt's one of the few exciting things in life for me. After five months of doing almost absolutely nothing, I'm glad for the chance to do anything."

That strange trembling panic rose up inside of Iris, and she labored to keep her breaths normal; she knew that she had not been discreet, and Zero was now annoyed. She hated being of any nuisance to anybody. Not only that, but the reploid's remarks had disturbed her profoundly. His mindset was arrantly alien to her--she could not comprehend it at all.

"Please pardon me," she said very softly, "I didn't mean to pry. I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Zero waved her off easily, his former attitude returning now that the danger was past. Iris felt her spirits rise a little, but she now had run out of subject matter. What on earth else was there to divert him with until her brother returned?

Then, as if by a miracle, Colonel walked in, carrying a tray of beverages one glass of a dark liquor, the other two simple carbonated drinks, the reploid equivalents of Cokes.

"I have taken the liberty of getting us some refreshments for ourselves," he explained, offering up one of the glasses with exaggerated formality. Iris grinned, took the drink, and snuggled back in her chair. All was right and comfortable once again.

As the trio talked easily amongst each other, Iris could barely keep herself from wriggling with delight. Her uneasiness and fear disappeared, and Zero didn't intimidate her quite as much. He had such a reputation for sternness and an almost callous indifference to death, but now, as he sat across from her, he was actually likable and friendly.

"I had better report back to the H.Q.," Zero announced following a half hour, rising up from his seat. "My unit needs training. Thanks for everything."

"You are always welcome in our home, Zero. Until the next time we meet," Colonel nodded, also rising; he shot Iris a prompting glance.

"It was a pleasure to actually meet you, Zero," she valedicted cheerfully.

"Same here. See you around, Iris," came the response; Zero nudged her on the shoulder while he passed by her chair as Colonel escorted him out the living room door.

"Well," her brother asked when he came back, "what did you make of him?"

"He's very intriguing," Iris murmured, feeling suddenly shy. "I thought he was much more serious and stern than that."

"He usually is. But you'll find out, dear sister, that many people have countless facets to their personalities, each one surfacing at different times as the situation demands. Nobody is constant."

No, I guess they're not," Iris concurred absently, slowly retreating back into the kitchen.

As the pared and sliced at various vegetables, Iris found that her thoughts kept on drifting back towards Zero. The more she thought about it, the more enthralled she became. His attitude sometimes shocked her deeply and frightened her, but it also was exotic and captivating--she had never seen the like of it before, and wanted to delve deeper into the reploid's psyche. She could not fathom how he could have smiled and even joked with her and her brother, yet still be the same person who was infamous for his anger. But for all that, she liked him, and had a secret desire to see him again, at least once, even if they didn't speak one word to each other. Looking at Zero was entrancing enough.

However, Iris's attention was soon diverted away from Zero during the matter of Dr. Thorne's illness.

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

As of late, Dr. Thorne's already rather fragile health had begun to deteriorate. The lines around his mouth and on his forehead grew deeper and strained; he walked with a cane and hunched shoulders; he lost weight rapidly, and was racked with a persistent cough that made his whole body quake. Yet he would not alter his schedule for anything. When either of his creations tactfully suggested that he might consider reducing some of his tasks, the doctor would reply rather acerbically that he would never do such a thing, and that neither of them was to bring up the subject again.

Iris grew distressed and exasperated. All she and her brother were doing was trying to be sympathetic and mindful of their creator's health, yet he wanted none of it. She often thought of forcibly dragging the man to the doctor's, but knew she would never do it. Besides, when she was alone, a nasty little voice deep inside her mind would say that if the old man was determined to waste away and die, it was his own affair, and the best thing was to sit back and let him do as he wished. She wanted the whole retched business to be over, and not have to wait in the shadows, watching her creator dwindle and peak away day by day.

Then one day, the bottom fell out. The phone rang, and when she answered, Iris saw Colonel's face on the viewscreen. His face was drawn and his eyes were troubled.

"What's the matter?" she asked. She thought that she knew the answer, but there always was a margin of error...

"Dr. Thorne is in the hospital," came the dull, dreaded answer. "He collapsed during a meeting and was rushed here. I was just informed about it thirty minutes ago."

"How is he?" Iris asked faintly.

"The doctors told me that he's still unconscious, but that he will recover in a few days and be able to come home if he so desires. But--"

"But what?"

"He's dying. It's estimated he has only about two months left."

Iris's legs shook unsteadily, and her arms ached with the exertion of supporting her up against the table. "Dying! Of what?"

"Cancer. It began in his colon, and now it's spread throughout his lymph nodes and into his bones. He has malignant tumors growing in his intestine. There is no chance for remission; he's too far gone for any treatment to work on him. I don't think that he would have wanted to have been treated anyway."

"Will they keep him up there?"

"That depends on our creator's wishes when he regains consciousness. Personally, I wouldn't count on it. He will probably return home in a few days."

"Where is he? What hospital, and what room? I'll get down there as soon as I can," Iris spoke rapidly.

"No, Iris. They will not admit anyone into his room. The doctors are all over him, and they mustn't be disturbed. I shall come home in a few minutes. I'm sure we'll be contacted when Dr. Thorne is ready to be taken out, if he chooses to do so."

"All right."

They said good-bye, and Iris turned off the screen. She walked over and sank down into a chair. One hand lay closed tightly in her lap while the other one stroked unthinkingly at one of the soft parts of hair hanging next to her left ear, and she waited.

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

Dr. Thorne arrived home three days later. When she heard the car entering the garage, Iris opened the door and waited in the frame, watching as her brother got out and helped their creator out from the passenger side. The old man looked sallow and apathetic, and he could hardly stand while Colonel reached in and brought out a wheelchair, sitting the old scientist down in it.

Iris would have stepped forward to greet them, but she was rooted in place when she saw a middle-aged lady step out of the back seat, carrying a satchel.

"Hello, there!" the nurse--for Iris could not see what else the woman could have been--called out. "Is this the last member of the family?"

"Yes, it is. How have you been, Iris?" Dr. Thorne smiled weakly as the motor of his wheelchair propelled him forward.

The reploid swallowed and forced the words out of her mouth: "Worried sick, Sir." She nodded towards the nurse. "Is this your--?"

"Indeed. Nurse Harriet, this is Iris." Dr. Thorne gestured towards each of them in turn.

"A pleasure to meet you," Nurse Harriet said, shaking Iris's hand. In response, Iris put on her most amiable expression and murmured a reciprocation.

The little group shuffled in through the doorway. Iris did not feel like going inside; she wanted to be alone. Nevertheless, she went along anyway.

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

Days passed, and Iris found the situation nearly intolerable. For some reason that not even Iris could determine, Nurse Harriet's presence was most unwelcome. Like clockwork, the woman arrived each day at nine in the morning and stayed until eight. Iris didn't actually see much of the nurse; Dr. Thorne had been confined to his upstairs bedroom, and Harriet spent most of her time there, which was probably for the better.

It was not that Iris disliked Nurse Harriet, for she was cheerful and very kind. Yet the reploid always experienced bouts of jealousy whenever she saw the nurse; she felt that her duties and rights were being infringed upon. Harriet waited on the doctor now, cooking his food, making his bed, helping him change clothes. Iris felt worthless and without merit to see how easily her work could be taken over, but also chastised herself for not welcoming the affable woman into the house. Still, the uncomfortable feelings and thoughts never went away, and just when she needed more work to occupy herself, there was less to be had. It was simply intolerable--she could not even practice her violin, for fear it might disturb the doctor. So after her chores, Iris usually crept up into her room and lay on the bed, feeling utterly miserable She knew that it was shallow and stupid and would gain nothing, and that her bother would have killed her if he saw, but if she kept quiet, then who would be the wiser? Iris needed something in which to do while she waited.

On a nice, mild evening, Iris and Colonel sat out on the porch swing. They hadn't spoken much to each other, but she felt assured by her brother's large presence; things didn't seem quite so bad in his company.

The door opened with a click, and Nurse Harriet stepped out into the evening air.

"Iris, the doctor wants to speak with you--alone," she announced, adding the last word as Colonel rose alongside his sister.

"What is it? Is he...?" Iris whispered, dreading the answer.

"Oh, no," Harriet chuckled a little, "he's still got some time left. I guess he's just lonesome for you." She turned to Colonel. "He'll talk with you, Sir, when he's through with her. He awaits, Iris."

Iris followed Harriet to the foot of the stairs and, left on her own, ascended.

The room smelled of dust and ether. It was uncomfortably warm, and Iris felt an unclean sensation all up and down her skin, as if she hadn't washed for days.

Sitting in the middle of his great mahogany bad, balancing a pad on his knees, was Dr. Thorne, wearing loose, rather silly looking striped pajamas. His now sparse gray hair was limp and matted, and liver spots dotted the skin of his skeletal, claw-like hands and his forehead. To Iris, he was one of the saddest sights she had ever seen, just as sad as the old lady working in the grocery. In fact, looking at any aged person made Iris unhappy--they were all so weak and fragile-looking, and nobody wanted them around. She could not see how they could endure it, and was thankful beyond measure that she would never grow old.

"Hello, Sir. How are you feeling?" Iris asked quietly, placing her hands on the bed's footboard.

"Passably," the doctor said, face straining a little as he spoke; he gazed on her with exhausted, deep-sunk eyes.

"That's good. You wanted to talk to me, Sir?"

"I did. You know, Iris, I am a dying man. I'm not going to last much longer. And, as hokey as it sounds, I would like to have one final talk with you, while I still can think straight. When a person is as old as I am, he wants to tie up all the ends so that he can crawl towards death with a peaceful heart. You won't have to pretend you'll miss me."

"Oh, Sir, don't talk like that! Of course I'll miss you. You're my creator; you made my CPU. A reploid only has one creator, if you think about it. "

The jaundiced eyes wrinkled up a little. "Very dutiful of you, I'm sure. Even more astonishing since I've never been very affectionate towards you. I know I should have tried a little harder, but--well. I know you can't help it."

"Help what?" Iris demanded, the familiar twang pinching her chest. Following it, she felt something close to anger, but yet not quite hot nor impassioned enough; it was more like annoyed impatience. "Oh, Sir, I really wish I knew why you don't like me. Does Repliforce really mean that much to you? We might as well be honest with each other."

"Repliforce does mean much to me. I was one of the founding members, and I've worked hard on its behalf. But for all that, that's not the main reason. It is because you're weak, Iris. You're the weakest being I know, and I think it's a shameful thing. I despise your weakness." Dr. Thorne's voice, level and steady at first, gradually grew into a derisive tone. "It has made you less than what you could have become. Look at you. If you had shown some spine and tried again after being embarrassed a little, you might have been a helpful, productive citizen. That's all I ever asked for. But you wasted the potential you had, simply because you were too shy. What do you do all day? Sit around and do the house chores, and playing on that violin of yours. You could have been a highly respected courier officer, but you've turned into a maid! If I wanted a maid, do you think I would have intended her for the service? You disappoint me, Iris, and that's that."

"Oh, Sir!" Iris cried, hiding her face in her hands, tears trickling unbidden down her cheeks, "how can you say that? I'm good to you! I clean your room, do your taxes, cook your meals, wash your dirty clothes! I do everything I can to make your life easier, and you hardly ever once said 'thank you' to me! We can't all be couriers and warriors and scientists." Her voice trembled and lowered its pitch. "Sometimes I wonder why you even created me at all."

Iris shivered, and teased her bangs nervously; she feared she was going to be yelled at, which she hated.

Dr. Thorne winced a little as he leaned forward, but his eyes were bright and alert. "I suppose that you, above all others, have a right to know. I'm glad you asked; we can make a totally clean breast of it at last. Would you like to hear everything?" She nodded, and he continued, "You must promise me never to tell anyone else, except your brother. That's your decision--I won't say a word. Not even the two men who helped create your body know the real reason."

"I promise."

"Good, good. When I came up with the blueprints for Colonel, I had in mind the design for a reploid that would be a consummate warrior, and serve Repliforce in a high position. But with the outbreak of three Maverick revolts, my team and I all agreed that he needed a check of some sort, something to ensure that he would not be a threat to humans. We had already completed Colonel's main CPU, so I designed an auxiliary chip that would simply add to the current program. This chip, Iris, would not give him any specific personality alterations, but simply instill in him a peace-loving nature. He would fight if required, but he would always lean towards harmony. We built your brother's body, but when I installed the two chips, he didn't activate. We ran a scan, and realized that his two chips were at odds with each other. For all my work, I could not implant a peaceful nature into a born warrior's body just as an afterthought. His body nearly exploded from the strain--thank God we removed the auxiliary chip in time! I was very disappointed in my failure, but I decided to activate your brother anyway, and I was most pleased. He turned out to have a fine personality, and I saw I never had a reason to install the blasted auxiliary anyway. Ye I thought it was a shame to throw away a perfectly good CPU that I had spent many hours on, so I modified it, made it into a CPU that could provide life-functions on its own."

"Was that my chip?" Iris whispered; the room seemed to spin around her in a dizzying arc.

"Indeed. I have always known why you two get on together so well. So you see, Iris, that is why I never intended you for battle. I didn't intend for you to have no spine, however. But we can't do anything about it now, and it's who you are." He gazed sharply at her. "I do not wish to harp on you at this point in my life, but, Iris, you really must think about the future for once! When I'm gone, will you leech off your brother for the rest of your life?"

"I do not think so, Sir. I help him in any way I can. He seems to be grateful for it. But," Iris added ruefully, laughing a little, "we've been over this before. I'm not meant to do anything significant, and I'm sorry that I never made you proud of me. I really am. But don't be sad--you got lucky with one of us. Colonel is a very great leader. It's not every day a person creates a reploid of his like!"

"Yes," the doctor sighed wearily, sinking down into the depths of his mattress, "Colonel is my greatest creation."

She stared down at the old man, and she wanted to say more to him, but he seemed so small and sick, the bed almost eating him up, that she felt sorry for him, and wanted to start crying again.

"Yes, he is," Iris said, smiling wanly at him. She went around to the side of the bed and started straightening out the slightly crooked sheets and fluffing his pillow. "Don't worry about a thing, Sir. We'll manage all right, you'll see. I'm glad we talked. There. Is there anything else I can do for you? I'll do anything I can."

"Send in your brother to me, please. We have things to discuss."

"All right. Anything else?"

"No." He reached up and gave her chin a tug. "My pretty little rainbow."

Iris turned around and hastily left the room, closing the door behind her without a sound. Walking down the stairs, she felt like she had been beaten, and every word he said to her rang in her ears. She seemed so insignificant; nobody likes to have their life reduced to a blur, and she couldn't even think about it without her thoughts threatening to scatter into pieces.

Yet she was glad it was all coming to an end. Iris blew out a sigh and walked outside with lighter shoulders.

Colonel still sat on the porch swing; his head was bowed, one hand brushing across his forehead.

"Brother? What's the matter?" Iris inquired gently, seating herself next to him.

"He's very close," he said heavily, not meeting her eyes. "We have much to do. We'll have to make funeral arrangements, and pay the bills, and then there's the wretched business of the house--"

She had not even thought about the house. Under law, reploids were prohibited from inheriting human property, not being true kin. Dr. Thorne had no living relatives that Iris knew of, but there could have been some distant cousin out there, or perhaps the government would take possession of the place. Either way, they would have to leave. That meant packing up all of their things they owned, filling out countless forms, and--the things to be done were staggering.

"Surely Repliforce would be able to provide something for us? I'm certain that they'd help us out," Iris spoke up after a few minutes.

"The odds seem to be in our favor. The General would probably be glad to accommodate us until we find our feet. I have earned a good sum of money in my tenure as second-in-command, but it won't last us forever if we keep on living hand-to-mouth. But we will need a place to stay for a little while, until we can relocate." Colonel's face twisted into an angry snarl, his teeth clenched together. "In all my life, I never thought that I'd be begging the Repliforce to give me food and board! What will my troops think of it? It's hard, it's hard! I hate it!"

"It will only be for a little while, Brother. We'll make it--you'll see. I'll do the best that I can to help; it won't be so bad," his sister soothed, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "In fact, I'm kind of looking forward to it. Just you and me!"

"And Spiral, to a lesser extent," Colonel gave one of his rare, wry chuckles, his shoulders losing their tenseness.

"And Spiral," Iris giggled. "We'll turn out all right. Think of it! For once, I can practice whenever I please!"

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

Nine days later, Dr. André Thorne died. Following a funeral which was kept as private as possible, the two survivors packed out, tied up all the loose ends as quickly as they could, and moved into the Repliforce barracks until they found a suitable new home.

During their stay, Iris donned on her silly uniform and re-tested. She signed up as a courier.