Sigma smiled.

Fortune, it seemed, always swung his way. History and the weight of the world favored his cause. It was why he could say with such conviction that his victory was inevitable. Reploids deserved it. He deserved it. Virtue had its rewards—that's what "Reploids are the chosen race" meant.

So when two or three things he would have done anyway all came together, and he could dispatch them with a single stroke? Why, that was just more evidence that the universe conspired in his favor. X and Zero combined could stand against Sigma, but not the whole universe.

"Your suggestion is acceptable," Sigma purred to his spy. "We'll add it as a part of the plan. Light the fuse."

"Understood."

"Congratulations, Ms. Gerry," said the Minister in charge of the Office of Reploid Relations. "Repliforce has completed its first mission."

"Thank you," the woman replied. She was seated across the table from the Minister. General was not. The secure offices just weren't suited for someone his size, so he was permitted to stay at Repliforce's base and participate in the meeting by telecom.

As if that could make General feel any more distant from things.

"The operation went quickly and smoothly," Gerry continued. "Repliforce will stay in Alexandria for two more days to ensure the suppression is complete. Then we'll hand things back over to the locals and return home."

"Good, good," said the Minister. "Any troubles?"

"Not really," said Gerry, and though she affected nonchalance General saw her becoming eager. "Although if we're going to do this sort of thing often, we'll need some additional heavy transport capacity…"

"And replacements for the casualties we took," General said gravely.

"Yes, of course," Gerry said shortly, "but the equipment for further Repliforce expansion is a larger expense…"

My soldiers are an expense to her, General thought sourly. And not even a large one.

"Expansion?" said Commander Grant, seated across the table from Gerry and looking, to General, as if someone had welded his hands together. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself? You had one successful deployment, in a second-rate city against third-rate Mavericks. And I heard you're having trouble accounting for all of your mechaniloids. It's almost as if a bunch of them went missing. Add it all up and it's not much of a track record."

"Well, at least my track record is all credits and no debits, unlike other organizations I could name," Gerry shot back.

Your track record? General scoffed mentally.

"And when you've settled three wars, then maybe you'll be in the same…"

"Please, please," said the Minister, waving a hand at each of his subordinates. "With the resignation of Mr. Green, we're thin in our command structure here. I need a little more harmony if we're going to get things done."

"Repliforce can get things done, with the Hunters or without," Gerry said. "I think we just proved that."

"Point taken," the Minister said.

"How was the collateral damage?" Grant asked. "You haven't seen fit to share your report, so I don't know all the details."

"You'll receive a copy of the report when it's prepared," Gerry said smoothly, deflecting the inquiry. "General, when will the final report be ready?"

"Two days from now," General replied. "With our forces still in a combat zone, I didn't want to add the distraction of a debrief just yet. We'll compile the report while the troops are withdrawing."

"Not what I'd hoped for, but fine," Gerry said.

"You don't need the full report to answer the question," Grant insisted.

Gerry's eyes flashed. General recognized that look. Subconsciously, his feet braced against the floor. "We have no reports of significant collateral damage," she said coldly. "Certainly nothing that would merit… official censure from ORR."

The last words were a stab. She knows about the Pyrrhus incident, too, General thought. Why didn't she tell me about it, then? Instead she just used it as a cudgel against Grant, her enemy…

Her… enemy?

General looked back and forth between the two humans. The animosity was unmistakable. They were the leaders of two large, well-armed groups of reploids, both with the job of stopping Mavericks, and they seemed to see each other as their gravest foe.

"Yes, Repliforce's performance does seem satisfactory," the Minister said, intervening in the squabble again. "But don't get too far ahead with your budget requests, Gerry. We have to fund the Hunters, too. The Hunters had a successful last month—not as successful as promised, but successful nonetheless."

General frowned. "Successful?"

"Maverick terminations were up ten percent," Grant said.

"You'd projected a twenty-five percent rise," the Minister pointed out.

"And that's success?" General said, unable to help himself.

"We're fulfilling our mandate," Grant said.

General looked to a different part of his screen. The message was still there. Anonymous, like the last one. Ask the Hunters how successful they are. You'll discover their priorities. General remembered—with an impact that staggered him—what X had said: "Destroying a never-ending procession of Mavericks? That's not victory." But killing Mavericks… that was success, for these people. Not victory, but killing Mavericks.

Priorities. The first message came to General's mind. The Pyrrhus incident, this discussion, it all showed the order of priorities. The lives of humans matter. The lives of reploids do not.

How am I supposed to keep my soldiers safe when those are the priorities?

"The point," the Minister said, re-centering, "is that there just isn't enough money to go around. There never is. The government is already diverting lots of resources away from completing Eurasia in order to work on—he's read in, right?"

"If you were about to say 'Final Weapon', then yes," Grant said.

"Okay. So the government's diverted away from Eurasia to fund Final Weapon, and we've diverted plenty of discretionary funds to start and equip Repliforce."

"Including funds that were supposed to restore the Hunters to nominal strength," Grant said.

Gerry scoffed. "You're always taking casualties, and you're always chasing your casualties in your reinforcement requests. You haven't been at "nominal" strength since before the First War."

"Someone's done their homework. But guess what? Now that Repliforce is operational, that's your fate, too."

Our fate? General thought with surprise. To always be taking casualties, and always be trying to replace them…

I knew that war meant death. Meant losses. That's abstract, though. Those are people—my people—that are the losses. That are the dying. That are always going to be dying and being replaced…

Our fate.

"So stop it with this not-subtle-at-all-ploy to get more of the Hunters' budget," Grant finished.

"Why should I?" said Gerry defiantly. "We've just demonstrated that Repliforce can handle the external assistance mission. We already cut that mission out of the Hunters' portfolio. The budget to support that mission should follow."

"I'm not moving any budgets today," said the Minister. "You know that's not how the process works."

"I do," said Gerry. "Which is why I've scheduled a meeting for next week. That's where we'll show you our budget proposal for the next two cycles."

Grant flushed. "You're out of order," he said.

"How?" challenged Gerry. "I'm making suggestions. It's not like I have the power to actually change the budgets. All I can do is present my ideas with supporting evidence."

General could see the moment Grant realized he'd been outmaneuvered. It made him abandon tact. "Stop trying to kill the Hunters. ORR sees value in both our organizations."

"Don't take my name in vain," the Minister said, and if the atmosphere were any less tense it might have been funny. His face grew serious. "But that's an ironic thing for you to say, Grant."

"What do you mean?" said Grant, cautiously.

"I've seen a memo with your name on it," the Minister said. "A memo showing different ways how Repliforce could be a threat to humanity."

Gerry looked outraged but, in an act of consummate self-control, contained herself. General didn't need self-control. He was too stunned to react.

"Mr. Green's last act in government was to show me this memo," the minister went on. "He wanted the authority to declare Repliforce Maverick en masse, if certain conditions were met. States of emergency and so on. When I refused to give him that authority, he resigned in protest. That, people, is the real reason he is not here today. He felt so damned threatened by Repliforce just existing that he couldn't stay on.

"And I have the two of you to blame for that," the Minister went on. "You two openly hate each other. You're supposed to be able to work together, but you're so toxic that seems impossible. So let me make myself clear. The power to declare institutions Maverick remains with me, and I will not delegate it. I want both the Hunters and Repliforce to continue their current missions. The Hunters will remain inside Abel City. Repliforce will remain outside Abel City. And each of you will keep your respective forces on a very short leash until you learn how to behave yourselves. Is that clear?"

Gerry and Grant nodded obediently. General did, too, by instinct.

"If you were wondering why we agreed to build Repliforce but maintain the Hunters," the Minister said, leaning back, "part of it was because we were sold on Repliforce itself, but there was more. We thought competition would keep both your forces sharp. We thought there was value in having distinct organizations with distinct responsibilities and missions. There are international reasons, too. And we thought that Repliforce and the Hunters could be insurance in case the other went Maverick at scale, like in the First War.

"But you two are making me question the wisdom of that decision. You're like the damn monkey's paw—you're giving me what I wanted, but in the worst possible way."

He sighed, and shook his head. "Gerry, get your budget meeting off my calendar. Grant, find a spot on it. You're going to explain to me how you had such a big gap between your projected Maverick kills and your actuals."

Both made notes. General, needing to fill the void, said, "Do you need to meet with me, sir?"

The Minister gave General an indulgent look. "Feeling left out? What's on your mind?"

Gerry's look at General was sharp and insistent. It was easy for him to know what she meant, and even easier to comply. "Nothing, sir," General demurred. "I was just… offering, if you needed something from us."

"Give the Mavericks hell," the Minister replied. "That's all I need from you."

"Yes, sir," General said, and the response made him feel worse than ever.

"My challenge for you two," the Minister said, looking at Gerry and Grant, "is to stay behind for five minutes after I leave, and have a civil conversation. If you can be here five minutes without me having to call janitorial to get blood out of the carpets, we're making progress. Five minutes, starting…" he headed for the door, "…now."

As soon as the door clicked shut, Gerry had a finger up, ready to jab in Grant's direction. She froze herself before she spoke. Instead, she looked to the telecom, and pushed a button.

The call ended, leaving General alone in his office.

Or had he been alone all along?

Looking down, he realized his hands had been clenched. He didn't know how long they'd been like that. He consciously unfurled them. He was flexing his fingers when his screen beeped.

It was a message. Anonymous. Simple.

We should meet.

Unlike the previous messages, this one had a reply option. The reply address was masked—not that it likely would have told General much if it hadn't been.

He stared at the message as the conversation echoed in his head. Why, he wondered, had this message come to him now? Was it just a fluke? Or was the timing too tight to be coincidence? If it wasn't coincidence, that just opened a host of other questions, each more disturbing than the last.

But whomever was sending these messages hadn't been wrong so far. They'd led him towards looking at the right things. Things his human masters hadn't helped him understand, like what their real priorities were.

General raised his hands, lowered them, second-guessed himself. What was he doing, replying to an anonymous message like this? That was a failure of basic security. What he really needed to do was get someone in here to do a full security sweep.

Which he would do, he promised himself.

…Soon.

Where and when?

His reply was clearer and as concise as the message that prompted it. His finger hovered over the 'send' command for long seconds—but the fact that he was even thinking about it revealed to him that he'd already come too far. He had already accepted that this someone knew something, knew too much, maybe.

If nothing else, more data would help him narrow down the source of the leak. That's what he was doing, he told himself. He was gathering more samples, more data, to help security solve this breach.

He sent the message.

I shouldn't have done that, he thought.

Before he could second-guess any more a new message appeared. Your office. Tomorrow night.

He surged to his feet and walked away from his desk. Before he knew it he was pacing, too agitated to be still.

The presumption of it! To think that this someone, whomever it was, could get into his office on the Repliforce base… or thought they could…

Was it someone in Repliforce? Couldn't be—they could come to him directly, they didn't need this cloak-and-dagger game. So it was someone on the outside who felt confident they could get access…

…which made them a security threat, meaning they needed to be brought onto the base to be caught and retired. That wasn't exactly a grateful response, General realized. Not a good way to say thank-you for those eye-opening messages.

Not that agreeing to a meeting like this was any more honorable. Colonel would not approve. Then again, Colonel didn't know about the messages. General had withheld that knowledge—precisely because he knew Colonel wouldn't approve. His sense of honor was too strong to let him skulk about.

Well, who was skulking? General wasn't. He was working in his office—not hiding from anyone, or doing anything suspicious or out-of-the-ordinary. And if someone just happened to come by for a visit while he was doing his admin…

General leaned over his desk. He stared at the four little words, daring them to show any sign of treachery. They remained stubbornly opaque.

Haltingly, General typed a reply. Stared at it. Deleted it. Stared again. Retyped it.

Hit 'send'.

Okay.

"Visitors!" said Dr. Cain in surprise. "Come in, come in, don't let hesitancy or my reputation keep you."

"Reputation?"

Cain's eyes widened with delight. "Iris! So good to see you! And your friend's name is…"

"Double," the rookie Hunter said.

"Double, eh?" Cain looked over the yellow rookie, then peered at him from different angles. "You're an odd one. Aye-you-you? No, no… you-are-ay?"

"What are you talking about?" Double said, warily.

"I'm trying to guess your manufacturer," Cain said, tapping the side of his face thoughtfully. "The big vendors all have distinctive design elements. It's a parlor game for me. No, definitely not you-are-ay… hm. You have me stumped. You're a non-standard model."

"Y-yeah, I'm kind of a custom job," Double said, seeming embarrassed.

"Don't feel bad about that. Some of my favorite people are custom jobs." He smiled at Iris. "Like this little lady here. Ninety percent stock Federal Robotics social model, but that last ten percent… ah, it makes all the difference."

Iris looked away from him. "Excuse me," she said.

Cain cocked his head. "Let me guess. You're not used to picking up paternal pride, and it's a sensation you have trouble processing."

"So that's what that is," she said, still not facing Cain. "It's not just that it's an unusual emotion. It's…" She stopped; her brow creased in worry—her own worry, for once.

"Iris, I am the least threatening, least influential human you will ever encounter. About some things, anyway. Others found my views… never mind. What I mean is, when something's on your mind, you can talk to me."

"Thank you," she said, but left it at that.

"X confides in me, if that makes you feel better," he said.

"X is everywhere in the Hunters."

Cain wondered at her tone. Most Hunters held X in the highest esteem. Her voice… didn't. Curious. He looked over at Double. Double's gaze hadn't shifted off of him since the conversation had started. "Am I ugly?" Cain asked Double.

The question caught the reploid off-guard. "Well, I mean… er… for a human, you're… uh…"

"I was just trying to figure out why you can't look away, but she can't face me." He snapped his fingers. "Ah! I'm a hard read for your empathy, so you want to limit your inputs to keep things manageable. Is that it?"

She tensed, then nodded. "Being around humans is always hard."

"And you hesitated because you thought saying so would get you in trouble."

"I… was advised not to talk about humans if I could avoid it."

"That's prudent, though you don't need to worry about it with me. And I am sorry about the empathy thing."

She laughed. "It's not your fault you're human."

"It's partly my fault your empathy is so overtuned."

Finally she looked to him. "What do you mean?"

Cain eased himself into a nearby chair—resentfully; he hated being old. "To be precise, I'm the reason the Enhanced Suffering Circuit ended up in you, when Colonel's builders originally installed it in him. My solution is what formed the link between you two—your brain-link is the way we resolved problems in Colonel's construction."

She looked down. "I've always felt like I was a mistake—but you don't think so, do you?"

"Your empathy is so very good. No, you're no mistake."

"I thought I remembered you, but I didn't realize you were the one…" she couldn't finish. Her small hands were balled up.

His voice was sympathetic. "I'm sorry it had to turn out this way, but I had my reasons. Big-picture reasons, bigger than you or me or any of us. I am sorry, but I'd do it again, if it came to it."

Her foot twisted on the metal floor. "Do you know how hard it is, to live like this?" she asked him.

"I can imagine, but I don't trust my imagination to be accurate."

"I'm always submerged in the emotions of others. Whenever I'm not alone, everyone else is in my head, louder than my own voice. I can barely even have opinions," she said, and jerked a thumb at Double. "Even coming here was his idea."

Double appeared to panic. "But… hey, hold on, we said…"

"Because you wouldn't force yourself into a human's presence on your own?" Cain said, covering for Double.

She nodded.

"So, why are you here?" Now Cain looked to Double expectantly.

"Well, she was wanting to do something nice for Zero," Double said, "so I thought…"

"You were?" said Cain, over-enthusiastically, emotions riding so high Iris winced. "Tell me more!"

He could see her reluctance, but his enthusiasm—and her echoes of it—overcame it. "One of the few opinions I do have is… that I like Zero."

Cain smiled. "I'm impressed."

Iris' smile was like a rainbow—pretty, but it faded in and out and then was gone. "And I know he likes me too, because, well…"

Instead of speaking further, she reached to the small of her back, above the limit of her robot-hair. When her hand returned, it was holding a small cylinder.

Cain blinked. "That's a Z-saber."

"You're certain," she said, factually. "You've seen it before."

"Oh yes… Zero's been in my care many times. When he was first discovered, in fact, they brought him to me for analysis. He was a wretched creature then." Cain made a 'hm' noise as he remembered those days, seemingly a lifetime ago.

Iris frowned. "I thought that X was everywhere in the Hunters, but… so are you."

"Not just the Hunters," Cain said. "Reploids in general. They—all of you—are my legacy."

Double made a sound at that. Cain looked over, but Double had apparently let something slip and was embarrassed by the fact. He was looking away with tightly clenched hands.

"But enough about me," Cain said. "You have a Z-saber! Zero's not dead again, is he?"

"Dead—no!"

"Then he must really, really like you."

Her eyes widened. "You do know him, don't you? Even without empathy."

Cain grinned. "I have a different special sense than yours. You read people through their emotions. I read humans through what they build, and robots through how they're built."

For the first time, he slowed down his speech to carefully choose his words. "Zero was built to survive. His builder assumed that he'd have to fight to survive. So that builder gave him tools to ensure he would survive."

"Warbot instincts," Iris said.

"Yes. And weapons and the whole physical package. For Zero to do something that would weaken him, even a little… that means you've achieved a rarified position, Iris. You're part of his 'I'."

Iris looked at Cain searchingly. "He sees me as part of himself, you mean?"

"As much as he can." Cain smiled. "I'm so happy for both of you."

Iris blushed at that.

"He's only ever cared for X like that, before. This is progress."

The blush faded. "I see," she said.

"He'd be fascinating to study, if he ever let me," Cain said, breezing along. "He's using a very gross method, but I suspect it's because he's incapable of lesser means… ah, but hear me rambling on! I'll go all day if you let me, and, with your empathy, you can't find it within yourself to shut me up. What's the real reason you're here?"

"I want to know what it would take to build another one of these," she asked.

Cain leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Oh… this isn't going to be simple, is it?"

"No," he said. "Like I said, Zero has resisted detailed study. He instinctively doesn't want to be understood. Understanding something is step one to countering it, neh? And he isn't supposed to be countered. That means he can't let himself be understood."

Iris nodded—more than accepting Cain's point, she understood it first-hand. Cain smiled. It was a wonder to him that the waif was still alive, never mind part of Zero's 'I'.

"The question is, are we violating that desire by studying the Z-saber? And if we are, is it worth it? I'm guessing you want someone to build another saber so that you can keep that one, but he can have two again."

"Yes. I was told it's good to return favors."

"By this guy?" Cain said, pointing at Double.

"Well, it is," Double said defensively.

"It is," Cain agreed. "Hm. That clarifies things. Getting Zero another saber is helping him, so it's worth doing. Can we do it in a way that preserves his privacy…" He smiled. "I have an idea. We've built sabers before—Sigma had one, Colonel has one, a few others. The technology isn't unknown. The difference between those beam sabers and Zero's is a matter of degree, not of kind: his was made by a master of the craft."

"It's not returning the favor if I give him back something worse."

"It is, after a fashion," Cain said. "We're going to trick his self-repair system into building the saber for us."

Both reploids looked confused.

"Every reploid has some nanite-based self-repair capability," Cain said. "X's and Zero's systems, though, are unbelievably good. They can repair virtually any damage, with enough power and materials and a little time. We'll harness that ability. What we're going to do is give Zero a beam saber, one of ours. It'll be a custom job, though: we'll package it with the raw materials that make up the difference between a Z-saber and a run-of-the-mill beam saber. You might even bang it up a bit, just to sell the illusion. With any luck, Zero's self-repair will identify the beam saber as 'damaged', and use the materials to 'repair the damage'. Voila! New Z-saber.

"And," he added, "that means I don't have to do too-invasive scans of how the Z-saber works. A quick materials analysis will suffice. That should preserve Zero's privacy."

"I like the sound of that," Iris said. "How long will it take?"

"Mm… a couple of hours, perhaps. Once it's done you'll need to take the order to some place that can do high-level manufacturing."

"I'm surprised you can't do it yourself," Iris said. "You know how, and you feel bored."

Cain chuckled. "Isn't that the truth. There's a good reason for it, though. Look around. Do you see even a single tool? Do you see anything that could be used for construction or assembly?"

"Uh…" Iris and Double looked around Cain's lab. There were tables and computers and displays, of course. There were several of the more arcane implements of the roboticist's profession. What those were for, the two couldn't tell.

"Everything that you see," Cain explained, "is purely diagnostic in nature. I may evaluate. I may study. I may research. I may analyze. I may not build."

It was a setup. Iris, between her own expectations and what she felt of Cain's, couldn't resist. "Why not?"

"Because I didn't make you 'safe'," Cain said, relishing the statement. "I am the Man Who Allowed the Maverick Wars, and I cannot be trusted to build anything."

It was too much. Iris jerked her head away. Cain didn't blame her. It was a complicated subject; he felt every emotion about it, which was too potent a cocktail for an empath. For his part, Double didn't seem to know how to react either; he was visibly straining, but to do what, Cain couldn't tell. He doubted Double knew.

"Thank you for your help," Iris said without looking. "I'll be back in two hours for the Z-saber."

"Sure," Cain said, but Double wasn't ready to go yet.

"You said we'd need to go somewhere with high-level manufacturing," Double said. "I've heard Sky Lagoon is a high-end industrial park. Do you think they could help us on this project?"

"Probably," said Cain. "I don't know what they've got up there, but even if they don't make beam sabers, they can probably do the customization you need."

"Thanks again," Iris said, and she turned and headed out the door.

"I'm glad to get away from him," Iris said to Double as they walked away.

He turned his head to look at her. "You're surprised," she went on. "You're glad to get away, too. Sorry, sorry, I'm making you nervous. I'll be quiet."

"It's alright," said Double. "That ability of yours… it's pretty amazing."

"And frightening," she said. "You're frightened now."

"Sorry," said Double, bashfully putting a hand behind his head. "I'll try not to be. It's not fair to you. It's not your fault. It's his fault."

"I suppose it is," she said, and her voice wasn't quite benevolent, or even neutral.

"Is that why you couldn't look at him much?"

She shook her head. "No. It's like I told him—humans are hard to read. Even being around them…"

As she had before, she hesitated before saying what was on her mind. Double sighed in relief. "And here I thought I was the only one," he said.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Humans make you nervous," he said. "Well, they make me nervous, too. Just… don't tell anyone I said that, okay?"

She looked at him for several seconds, then—to Double's surprise—laughed. "So that's why… I thought it felt like you were hiding! It's because it's not safe for us to not-like humans. We have to hide ourselves."

Double joined her laughing as tension abated. "That's right," he said. "It's such a strain to keep a brave face on things, sometimes."

She sighed. "I just wish… if there were a place we could go, a place where… where only reploids existed…"

She covered her mouth. "Sorry, sorry—he told me not to talk about that—you won't say anything to anyone, will you?"

"Never," Double said with a smile.

"I believe you," Iris said. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it. By the way… Magma Dragoon mentioned to me that he was going up to Sky Lagoon when it approaches Abel City. Maybe you can go up there with him. I'll talk to him about it."

"Oh, Double," Iris said fondly, "you're such a good friend!"

"Is the lightning spoiling things?" General asked.

"I like to think it adds to the mood," was the reply. "The universe has a flair for drama."

Generals' visitor was keeping to the shadows, but with the lightning General could make out the overall form of the stranger. He was large—not a colossus like General, but unusually large for a reploid, properly proportioned, and solid. A pole was strapped across the stranger's back.

"Is that a weapon?" General asked.

"What if it were? Are you afraid?"

"It makes me want to not trust you," General said.

"General, if my plan were to attack you, I would not have told you I was coming. No, I have your survival keenly in mind. I, unlike your human masters, want you to live."

"Then why the weapon?"

"We must always be ready to fight for our lives. No one else will."

General frowned. "That sounds like a Maverick thing to say."

"That's the perverse irony of reploids, General." The stranger approached, and its voice became more intense. "The Hunters are far too eager to please the humans. They'll kill any reploid the humans want, whether they're a Maverick or not. You've seen this—you know it's true."

Generals' first instinct was to deny it. He couldn't find any words, any arguments, that would let him do that. "Perhaps," was the best he could do.

"You already know the truth. Their sole mission has been to destroy any reploid that fails to do as the humans order. The Second Law is so expansive. That means the Hunters are a threat to you every moment. The whims of humans are a threat to you every moment. Your survival depends on the humans' good graces. That's no way to live. It will not last. Sooner or later, you will be declared Maverick. That is the fate of all reploids."

"Other than the ones the Mavericks kill," General pointed out.

"But that's the point, isn't it?" said the stranger. "Only by going Maverick can you have a chance. Every loyal path leads to death. Only independence from humanity leads to survival. If you wait, if you try to be loyal, you're just giving them more opportunities to kill you. You'll live in fear, and die betrayed. That is the end of all our kind… unless you act."

"Act," General repeated.

"Strike now, before they turn on you," the figure said, raising a fist. "You possess enough power to destroy them—Repliforce is more powerful than the Hunters. Shoot first and live, or wait and die."

Another crash of thunder. General thought he could almost see the outline of his visitor. It was a hairless head, that was for sure, but that wasn't much help.

"…You're dismissed," he said.

"What?" hissed the visitor.

"I will not betray the humans," General told him. "It is one thing to be called a Maverick, and quite another to deserve it."

"Heh heh… I agree."

The phrase caused General to check his temperature regulator—he felt cold all of a sudden. "You agree," he repeated.

"Oh, yes. If you're going to be declared Maverick anyway, why not deserve it?"

"Remove yourself from my sight," General said, hoping his voice was firm. "My business with you is concluded."

"As you wish," the visitor said. "I don't have to convince you tonight, any more than I had to convince you with my messages. You will change your mind soon, I assure you. Just wait. The humans will make certain of that."

He let himself out with an unsettling laugh. General watched him go, unmoving. The visitor was there—lightning crashed—and then he was gone.

A flair for drama indeed, General thought. So long as he could keep that drama away from his soldiers…

But he couldn't do that, could he? That was the visitor's whole point. Drama was coming, whether he wanted it or not. Whether they deserved it or not. It was only rational to be prepared. There was, after all, nowhere to run. Nowhere on Earth they could go.

Nowhere…

…on Earth.

General ruminated on this. He didn't watch his chronometer to see how much time passed; he was too absorbed in his thoughts. Eventually he grabbed his phone.

"Colonel? Come see me. We need to talk."

Next time: Collision