Identification

"I hope you're comfortable, Mr. Hunt." Mr. Government said from the driver's seat. "We have quite a drive ahead of us."

"Where are you taking me?" Jace tried to keep his voice level, even as his heart was racing. The cuffs meant they'd learned from the last time. There would be no escaping for him. "And I didn't kill anyone–"

"Really?"

One of the small creature's hands reached out towards the wound that had split his chest open, exposing his heart to the alien light. If the fragile creature were to come in contact with the energies within his body, it– no, not it– he would most likely die.

The human reached for him, despite the warning– determined–

"You don't have to be alone."

"Mr. Hunt?" Mr. Government was waving a hand in front of his face. "You with us still?"

"I held back..." Jace found his voice again, though he couldn't manage to keep all the unsteadiness out. "None of your agents were seriously injured. So, enlighten me. Who did I kill?"

"Now that's the interesting part. You see, for all intents and purposes, Jason Hunt died in Mission City seven weeks ago."

"Funny," Jace tried to laugh, "I don't feel dead."

"Then can you tell me– without a single doubt– that you are Jason Hunt?"

A hand went up before Jace could form a retort. Of course they would use this tactic. They'd heard his uncertainty in the night. Maybe Simmons had told them, despite the generous words.

"Before you answer, do understand, we've had you under surveillance for weeks. The remains of one of the NBEs were hurled to the streets– as filmed by one of our agents on the scene. From the projected trajectory, a significant portion should have landed just outside a certain publishing office in Mission City."

Jace stared at the man.

The publisher was based in Mission City... You went there to meet them to sign a contract. Donna's voice echoed in his head.

Direct contact. You obviously touched something that you shouldn't have–

"Danielle Hunt showed up at one of the triage centers, half dragging, half carrying you. There were inconsistencies with her story then– as well as the interesting readings on the rad meter. If she hadn't insisted that you were her brother, and nothing had happened, we would have brought you in before, and none of this silly running around business would have had to happen."

The only things we found in the area where she claimed it happened were residue from some kind of machine, the rads that were a hallmark of the passage of one of the NBEs– your folks.

Danielle had lied. And the memories floating through his head were not...

"What..." Jace willed himself not to shake. Not to let this man know that right now he was touching on something that both drew and repelled him. "What happened to the ... NBE?"

"They really didn't tell you anything, did they." Mr. Government shook his head. "There was one casualty on the 'good' group of giant killer robots. In their terms, it died. I don't know what they do about burials– probably just scrap at that point..."

There had been no compassion in that voice that had pronounced his death. Not it. Him. Something that felt almost like a sob escaped Jace, before he could swallow it. Indignant. None of them would consider another merely 'scrap'– small memories flashed through his mind. Funerals. Memorials. The medic always taking the death of a comrade far too hard.

No wonder Ratchet had seemed so tired. He was probably still kicking himself.

"Mr. Hunt?" The voice was still matter of fact.

"So... if he died," Jace said, almost steadily, the handcuffs weighed him down. If he was right, he was also guilty. If. Why if? He knew he was now– the small bits and pieces were starting reconcile. He wasn't insane. "What do you want with me? Or do you think..."

"Tell me." The compassionless voice asked, "What is your real name?"

"My real name?" He gave a short burst of laughter. "My name... You wouldn't be able to pronounce it. For that matter, I can't even say it right anymore. Just...call me Jazz."

Ratchet had called him by the name that he'd adopted for this planet, just as Jazz had automatically called the medic by his in the desert. It had been accident that had brought them back together, even for a short time, but a happy one. He only wished he could have stayed there a little longer.

The look of triumph on the slimy government man's face lasted another five seconds.

It vanished when wall of force lifted the car off the road and flipped it into the ditch.

And for a moment, so did everything else.