"Mechaniloid scouts are confirming it. The Hunters are abandoning the east side of the city. All their forces are falling back to an extended perimeter in the west, centered on Hunter Base."
"Well done, Colonel," General said. "I don't deserve a subordinate like you." General clapped once. The sound it made was loud and harsh enough to bring silence to the room. "Begin the final evacuation. Deployed units are to shift and secure the route. All non-command personnel are to begin their escape now."
The pitch of orders and communications got much louder after that, even as some of the soldiers standing by began to leave. Soon only a skeleton crew would remain.
Casualties so far had been higher than expected. They were behind schedule. Even so, the plan would complete in time, and some of them would escape. That would make it all worth it, if some of them could escape this death sentence hanging over them all.
They would survive with their dignity intact. That was more than any other reploids could boast.
"If any units come under attack," General went on at large, "have them retreat to the east. Our Marine units control the coast, now, so there's always an escape route."
"Sir, the Marine units just reported coming under attack themselves. It's… it's Zero, sir."
Blast. So much for that.
"Sir," came another report, "our flyers used the very last of their fuel in the skirmish with the enemy's air cavalry. Without our air base, they can't refuel. They'll start dropping out of the sky soon."
"Have them land at Abel City's airport and make their way back to our lines," General said. "They'll rejoin our exodus using the trains."
"Yes, sir."
If only Colonel could have taken care of that Zero, General thought. Or if only Zero had elected not to fight. Then again, Colonel had said he was not conflicted; if he wasn't, Zero wouldn't be. They always had clarity, those two. General could respect that.
Zero didn't know what to do.
He knew what he immediately needed to do—exterminate the re-arming Repliforce Marine units. That was going along just fine, he noted as he pulled his saber out of a Repliforce corpse. But what to do after?
Was he really going to wipe Repliforce out? If so, he would fight Colonel again. He believed that Colonel would fight to the death next time. It's what Zero would have done, and what Colonel had promised. But… did Zero even want that?
No.
Then what was he supposed to do?
Killing wasn't supposed to be hard. X was so fascinating to Zero in part because he found killing hard even as he was a death machine unto himself. It made Zero want to know why; it made him feel like he was supposed to be more like that, more like X.
Now that he was closer, he was discovering it was no fun at all.
"Gah! You're still following us?"
Zero's eyes refocused. Jet Stingray was just ahead; a handful of other Marine models were nearby. Most were scurrying away in fear. No problem; Zero could clean them up later, and they weren't fighting now.
"Fine then. Come on, Zero!" said Jet, using his, well, jets to hover backwards. "See if you can finish me off!"
The weak shouldn't have so much bravado, thought Zero.
He charged for Jet, knowing he'd have to get close before he could draw Jet within saber range. Jet was retreating over a pier. Zero followed down the length of the pier.
"Perfect!" said Jet. "You have nowhere to go!" Jet retreated into the air over the open ocean and fired back along the pier, which was narrow enough that his explosive weapons couldn't miss completely.
So Zero, deciding against just tanking the explosions, shot the projectiles out of the air with his buster. And Jet's stopping to fire had allowed Zero to close the distance.
Jet realized this a little too late—realized it as Zero launched into the air after him. Zero's saber flashed, but Jet's slight moment of warning allowed him to move.
It was enough to prevent the loss of his life. It wasn't enough to prevent the loss of his leg.
Unbalanced and having lost some of his propulsion, Jet fell for the water. Zero fell, too. He hadn't had a plan for recovering; killing the target had been the only thing on his mind.
The two of them splashed into the water with heavy smacks and fountains of water. If Jet had been able to think, he would have recognized his advantage in the water in enough time to slip away from Zero. But he couldn't. He was very nearly a rookie. He was scared out of his mind fighting the Red Demon. He was jarred by the impact, riven by pain and shock from his wounds.
They were all excellent excuses. Excuses didn't save him.
Zero found him as they drifted towards the bottom. The water kept heat-based plasma and beam weaponry from being effective, but Zero had no need of weapons at this range. He had very nearly killed Sigma himself with no meaningful weapons. Jet Stingray was no Sigma.
He didn't release Jet until he was sure the Maverick would not move again.
He let the corpse drift away and walked—slowly, given the water—back to the pier. He used one of its pillars to climb up and out. The surviving Repliforce Marines had fled the scene. Zero scanned around, looking for them.
His eyes touched on something unusual—his hand. It was still covered in hydraulic fluid, a sharp contrast from the white of his armor.
He jumped back, as if that would somehow let him escape himself. His gaze darted around like he was afraid he'd be caught doing something wrong. Inexorably, his eyes returned to his hand.
They widened.
He remembered.
Remembered hydraulics on his hands, remembered the thrill—the glory!—the hunger that remained, wasn't sated only dulled had to be fed wanted more BETTER—
"Zero, are you okay?"
"Ki-yah!" Zero said, warping whatever instinct was saying into something unintelligible.
"Zero!"
"I'm fine!" he lied to Iris, shaking his head. Not now! Who needed a memory if it played tricks like this? He couldn't allow it—didn't want, didn't need—
"I lost your signal for a moment. What happened?"
"The water," he said, trying not to sound strained. "I had to go underwater to kill Jet Stingray. It blocked my signals."
"You're not okay. I can tell. Was Jet that tough?"
"No, it's not that. It's…" he stopped. Communications weren't totally secure, especially not at a time like this. No. Couldn't say. "Iris, it's about… something I told you earlier."
"Your dream?"
She had no sense of communications security. Or she couldn't help herself. "Never mind," Zero said.
"I'm sorry!" she squeaked. She'd read his dissatisfaction.
"I said don't worry about it. The war's getting to all of us." It wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to be at home at times like this, free to do what felt right. Free to do what he did best, with pleasure and success. Why was he so…
What was he doing?
Maybe… maybe if he fed it more…
Maybe if he gave the Red Demon more rein, became more like that…
But what did that even mean? The Red Demon was always part of him! Zero had always thought that the part of him that loved to kill, that lived for high-level combat… he'd always called that part of him the Red Demon. It was grumbling at him. This wasn't satisfying it. So what was he supposed to do?
Ask for help. Only X could help him. X was gone. Failing that, ask for orders.
It was his usual fallback, and it was pitifully inadequate. "Next target," he said.
"…okay," Iris answered, and what she could feel of Zero she didn't say. If she had any answers for him, she also didn't say.
"So, quiet along your front. Thanks, Altern," said Alia.
"No problem."
She'd expected that. She dropped a marker on her map. It wasn't the same map as they had on the watch floor; it was a generic city map. But, exiled from the watch floor as she was, this was the best she could do.
She was a professional. A professional worked, even if her boss made that hard. Dismiss her, would he? Well, that just meant she needed to work twice as hard, to make up for his mistake.
In a way, she had to admit, he was doing her a small favor. By taking her away from moment-to-moment unit control, he was giving her the chance to look at the big picture. You had to do that, from time to time. She'd learned that lesson back in the days when she worked with roboticists. It was too easy for them to get sucked in to the details of a particular system, even a particular subsystem, and lose track of its role in the grand design. Too often people got wrapped up perfecting their small piece of things, and when all these "perfect" pieces came together you had a chimera, a monster of mismatched parts, worse than useless, cruel to build. You always had to have someone who could take a step back and look at the problem in totality. That should have been Grant's role, but if he was too busy playing I've-got-a-secret, she would fill the void.
Which meant she had no time to waste on anything as fanciful as an extended metaphor.
She peered closer. Hm. She put her hand to her headset and dialed over to Eleventh Squad's command frequency.
"Signas, Alia, request you channel eight-five."
Come on, she thought. Be there.
"Alia, Signas. What can I do for you?"
She sighed in relief. He'd picked up, and he hadn't asked about why she hadn't called herself Hunter Base. He was keeping to business. It was better that way.
"Signas, I have a theory about Repliforce's strategy. I want to run it past you."
"Let me hear it."
X had been here before.
There weren't all that many volcanos around with freely flowing lava. Magma Dragoon, attracted perhaps by the ambience and the theming, had retreated to Flame Stag's old stomping grounds. History repeating, just like the wars themselves.
X wondered if Repliforce appreciated this fact. Certainly Dragoon did.
A mechaniloid spotted X. It squealed. He gunned it down before it could get away to report on him. He didn't need to give Dragoon any extra advantages, especially since he planned on taking his time. There was no profit in rushing around hazards like this.
He passed by a pipe. Out of curiosity, he swapped over to infrared vision. Even with the elevated air temperature, the pipe was blindingly bright.
This place should have been a geothermal power plant. There were vast amounts of power available here. The entire island of Iceland, X remembered, ran off of geothermal; this might not have been as impressive, but it would have been useful all the same. Then the Mavericks had moved in to try and figure out how to weaponize the plant, and the Hunters had come in after them. The rest, as they said, was history… and now the leftover infrastructure from that project was as dangerous as the volcano itself.
X went back to the visual range. He gave the pipe a wide berth.
It was a story X had seen over and over again. All these great projects humans and reploids had built, all turned into weapons or ruined in crossfires. This plant, Sky Lagoon, Dopplertown…
The area ahead was dark. X swapped vision modes again and saw the outlines of lights, valves, controls, and two thick, split-open cables. His danger sense prickled. The lights might be dark from burning out, sure, but they might also be dark because their live power supply had been cut.
No point chancing it. X leapt into the air and used the boosters in his feet to clear the control station in one go. He let down on the far side.
A mechaniloid started blaring at him. "BWEET! BWEET! BWEET!"
X silenced it. Too late. Several others, looking like classical Light-era Battons, began to close on him.
Mindless little things. They had no way to know they had no chance.
X caught one with Spider's Lightning Web; it fell, screaming, into the main crater area. As the others closed, X used Storm Owl's Double Cyclone to knock them out in bulk.
X's fight with Storm Owl had been so frantic and short there hadn't been time to fully evaluate the bounty. That meant live testing was the only option. Better to do live testing in low-danger situations, and face-to-face with Magma Dragoon would not qualify. Now to check on the mechaniloids…
Repliforce markings.
So Repliforce had been willing to sell Dragoon out, but they'd still given him mechaniloids for support? Maybe hoping he would delay or destroy X for them without putting any of their own personnel at risk. It made sense for Repliforce… but why did it make sense for Dragoon?
"X!" boomed a voice. He recognized it as Dragoon's. Up ahead was an outcrop, an overlook above the main area of lava. X moved for it. Hopefully he'd be able to see Dragoon from there.
Oh, really.
"Come fight me, X," Dragoon hollered. He was standing on a ridge of rock entirely surrounded by lava. It was the most hazardous, stupidest place to fight that X could imagine.
"I'm not coming down there," X replied. Fighting a Maverick Hunter squad leader on terrain of his choosing? Terrain that would punish any mistake? Madness. He readied his buster.
Dragoon pressed a button on a remote control.
The ground vanished out from under X. He recognized too late—a small charge underneath the outcrop, detonated by remote to bring X down to Dragoon's level, like it or not.
And Dragoon was rushing towards the edge of his chosen battleground, ready to greet X when he arrived.
Panicked, X fired a shot ahead of Dragoon—hastily aimed, but maybe it would make Dragoon hesitate. Without checking to see if it worked, X tucked his feet back under him and gave a maximum-thrust boost on open air. It was enough. His new trajectory put him flying over Magma Dragoon—
A gout of flame narrowly missed him. He tumbled but still landed on his feet, facing away from Dragoon. He whirled around, knowing Dragoon was doing the same. Quick-draw situation, and X couldn't be sure…
They both raised weapons. X fired first. His shot was quick, uncharged, aimed high—not able to kill, not intended to kill.
It struck Dragoon in the upper chest and rocked his torso back ever-so-slightly. His flame blast answered, lashing out at close range—but Dragoon's aim had been elevated ever-so-slightly by the impact of X's shot. The flames were close enough overhead they set off temperature alarms in X's head. They did no actual damage.
Before the flames fully cleared X's vision, Dragoon snap-kicked X, aiming for the face. X took the blow as well as he could, soaking it on shoulder and hand. It still spun him about, disorienting X in a place where a single misstep could have fiery and fatal consequences.
He regained his bearings just as Dragoon came flying forward. His arm crashed down with enough strength to plaster X against the rock. X danced backwards and away, knowing he had precious little space.
Fourteenth Squad was known as a Grapple Combat Unit. Their specialty was close-range fighting. Dragoon, in fact, had been the hand-to-hand combat instructor. X could not remain close and hope to live. But, with so little room available, he couldn't exactly stay away, either, not for long, not as fast as Dragoon was…
He pelted Dragoon with quick, rapid-fire shots to slow the ex-Hunter down. They didn't, really. Dragoon would not be distracted and cover his face like Web Spider. He would not be overcome by pain or fear like Cyber Peacock. He knew the stakes. He knew that half-measures could not prevail against X. He rushed through the barrage, ignoring the pain and damage. Again he leaped—coming down with a strong kick, so tall and jumping so high himself that X couldn't hope to jump over and clear.
X crouched down and dashed instead, body almost parallel to the rock, squirting just underneath the vaulting Maverick—charging his X-busters all along.
Again Dragoon whirled, and again he unleashed his flames. This time, though, X had been in motion, and he never paused, dashing out as far as he could—and then going further.
No, this was no time for half-measures.
X leaped out away from the rock, jumping into the air over open lava.
It was just enough to clear the range of Dragoon's flames; they nipped at X's heels as he leapt. Gathering himself once more, X fired his boosters again, leaping on nothing, a move even similarly-equipped reploids would never have attempted. The stresses were too much for their bodies to take; the control needed was only attainable after three-and-counting wars of experience.
And even if there had been a reploid with the construction and control to pull it off, there were none with the imagination to conceive of it mid-battle.
X flew back towards the platform again, twisting as he came, bringing his whining busters into line.
Even shocked as he was, Dragoon was able to get his arms in front of his chest. His arms were blackened by the blow, and some plasma bled through to darken Dragoon's chest, but he was alive. He dropped his arms to find X—
And the second blast, delivered in perfect rhythm, took him clean off his feet.
Whether it was a triumph of superior construction or sheer will, Dragoon rebounded from the hit. He was on his feet almost instantly; his lust for life burned in his eyes.
Which was why X had to be aggressive, had to end this.
Even as Dragoon bounced to his feet, X was dashing for him, a move so bold it bought the Hunter the fractional second he needed. He fired off Double Cyclone with just one arm. The surge of compressed air lifted a surprised Dragoon into the air, suspending him helplessly...
And a third and final charged shot burned through Dragoon's armor and breached his chest.
He slammed with finality to the ground. X could see him struggle even so. He tried to move, tried to regain his feet. He could barely lift his hand. The battle was over.
"What a waste!" X shouted as he walked towards Dragoon, hands still smoking from overcharge. "Look at how well you fought! You did everything you could—you dictated the terrain, you achieved surprise, you set up favorable rules of engagement…"
"David strategies," Dragoon said. His power system was fluctuating, so his voice chip's output was, too. "When outclassed… seek out high-variance situations, and hope to get lucky. The lava was my equalizer." He laughed; with his damage, it was a strange, surreal sound, jumping across several octaves. "Not that it mattered. What they say is true. Death does wear blue."
X's lips pursed. "I thought Zero was Sudden-Death Man."
"He is, but… you have your own reputation."
X had no time to think about that. He didn't want to, either. "Why, Dragoon? Tell me why!"
"I wanted to live," Dragoon replied. "Only by fighting you, and winning… could I escape."
"That's not what I mean," X said, frustrated. "Why did you go Maverick? Why did you destroy Sky Lagoon? What was worth thousands of deaths and provoking this war?"
An electrical arc crisscrossed Dragoon's body. His end was near, and both robots knew it. Plasma weapons did bad things to electrical insulation. Even heat-based fighters like Dragoon weren't protected from fire inside their bodies.
"I don't know how you do it," Dragoon said. "As a grappler, I have to get close to fight. I see the faces of the Mavericks I Hunt. I hear their voices, their screams, their last words, their bitterest curses. I… I guess I was called 'collaborator' once too often. After a while, it stuck. I started to feel like one. I… despaired.
"There was no end to it. It was so personal—so immediate, and it never stopped. I couldn't handle killing and killing and killing with my own hands. The more I killed, the harder it got. The more I killed, the more the Hunters rewarded me, and the more they demanded I kill even more. I… couldn't..."
"Oh, Dragoon," X said sorrowfully.
"I was a traitor no matter what I did," Dragoon said. "If I stayed a Hunter, I was a traitor to reploids. If I left, I was a traitor to humans. So when… when I was offered a way out… They promised me. They said, one last time, and then I'd never have to kill again."
He laughed bitterly. "I guess they were right."
Another arc. Dragoon's limbs twitched as motor control burned out.
"So you let the Mavericks use you," X said, voice gentle. "With your help, they instigated the Fourth Maverick War."
Dragoon's voice chip made an indistinct noise—it had lost its precision. "It sounds so bad when you put it like that."
"Hundreds of good people—earnest, credulous people—are dying right now because of it. And I… I'm forced to kill because of it. Not just kill. I have to annihilate Repliforce because this world doesn't believe in in-between."
"But you'll do it anyway," said Dragoon.
"Maverickism is worse," was all X could muster.
Dragoon closed his eyes. "I see. So it is possible, after all."
X blinked. "What is?"
"Remaining yourself as a Hunter. I couldn't, but you did. And how! You've been fighting so much longer… you've seen so much more destruction… I felt sorry for myself, all this time, but I haven't had nearly as many battles as you have. Death wears blue. And you remember, don't you?"
X didn't trust himself to speak.
"And yet… here you are."
The arcing and sparking became more urgent. "I'm glad I was able to fight you, X," said Dragoon. "I'm glad I was able to see you… like this."
"Why?" said X, dumbfounded.
"Because here… at the last, I was able to see your… conviction."
There was no explosion. There was a snap. There was a puff. There was a lazy flame, and a trail of smoke escaping from the breach in Dragoon's chest. With the lava so close by you wouldn't even have felt the heat.
X sighed.
Reluctantly he put his hands over Dragoon's, let the new data flow into him. Then, even more reluctantly, he popped open a panel on his leg and withdrew two long, silvery tools.
Some time later, he stood again. He took one last look at Dragoon, including the head panel he'd left open. Then he shoved the body into the lava, never to be seen again.
"Goodbye, Magma Dragoon," he whispered. "May you find in death the peace you never knew in life."
As he walked away, he couldn't help but wonder if that would be his epitaph someday.
Alia gathered herself. She was sure. Her data were solid. She was right.
She hoped that would be enough.
She entered the watch floor for the first time since being relieved. It was essentially the same as before. There were a few more e-tanks and cups of coffee, perhaps—it had been a long day. And there were three people clustered around the console that had been hers. She allowed herself a spark of professional pride at that.
"What are you doing here?" growled Grant.
The words and tone might have deterred some other Operators, Alia knew. They would have sent Iris to her knees. For Alia, though, they just reminded her of how wrong he'd been in relieving her. That mote of anger was enough to help her plow through him. "Sir, I recommend the following dispositions for our squads, particularly the Seventeenth, Zeroth, Sixth, Eighth, and Task Force Lynchpin."
She handed him a piece of paper with both map and coordinates. Grant took it, but held it at his side without looking at it. "Why?"
"Because they'll thwart Repliforce's plan," she answered.
"Oh, we know that now?"
"We don't know, but we can infer," she said, preferring precision even in the face of his sarcasm. "When the fighting started, I was confused: why was Repliforce on the offensive? If they really wanted to build a new nation, they should have pulled a Doppler: dig in to their own facilities, and only attack Hunter Base preemptively if at all. Then, when X and Zero started attacking their backfield, they encountered only token resistance." Her eyes touched briefly on the Operators who'd provided that information. Double puffed up a little with pride; Iris was staring at her screen and blocking everything else out.
"The facilities they attacked were abandoned or nearly so," she continued. "Repliforce was leaving them before we ever got there. Wherever Repliforce is planning to build their new nation, it's not in their own lands. And it can't be in Abel City—that's hostile territory for them."
Grant waved his hand to tell her to go on.
"It's hard to tell because we have so few mechaniloids left, but Repliforce is moving. They're shifting. None of our forces have come under attack since Lynchpin was routed. It was as if they'd accomplished their objective as soon as they cleared the eastern side of Abel City. But it's not even the city itself that they want. The only thing that makes Abel City interesting is that it has the roads and railroads to get to where they can build their new nation."
"And where's that?"
Alia didn't answer immediately. Instead she went back to her console—the replacement operators scattering before her to make way—and shifted the map on the main screen. She traced the major arteries leading south out of Abel City's east—south, along the coast. Five kilometers. Ten kilometers, with the roads getting smaller and less important. Fifteen kilometers. Twenty. And then, right around the twenty-five kilometer mark, the only remaining road terminated at a single facility.
"Wherever they can get from here," she said triumphantly.
Grant's face was ashen. His eyes were fixed, as if he was petrified by this revelation.
"Sir?" Alia prompted.
Grant snapped his gaze to her—it went back, involuntarily, to the map—then back to her. He handed her back the piece of paper. "Make it happen," he rasped.
"Yes, sir," she said with relish.
"All points!" Grant shouted, his voice cracking in the process. "We're counter-attacking, now! Alia has the lead on disposition and axes of attack. We're committing everything! We've got to stop Repliforce!"
"Even Task Force Home?" Alia asked, wanting to be absolutely sure.
"Even Task Force Home!"
"Understood," she said, whirling. She quickly drew several major axes and a handful of rendezvous points. "All squads are to attack along these main routes. We've got to pinch off the southern roads. Set up roadblocks at these points…" Another set of figures. "We're not retreating this time. Repliforce is going to crash against us and break."
The hubbub on the watch floor rapidly built up as people reacted to the new orders and began coordinating, chattering, and shouting.
Alia switched to her radio. "Iris."
"Huh—oh, Alia. What is it?"
"New orders. Redeploy the Zeroth. Coordinates are on this paper."
Iris jerked her head to the side, seeing the world around her for the first time in… hours, probably, if Alia had to guess. "Why? What's going on?"
Alia pressed the paper into Iris' hands. "Drama," Alia said wryly. "Be glad you missed it—it would have fried your circuits."
"I am," said Iris. She looked down at the paper. "I understand."
"Good." Alia returned to her own console. Another call to make, now. "Lynchpin, Hunter Base."
"Base, Lynchpin, standing by."
Good. Signas knew it was her by voice, and hadn't bothered asking how it had gone, or if she'd succeeded—he knew, just by hearing her refer to herself as Hunter Base, that she'd won, and that meant it was time to go.
Efficient. Precise. Her aesthetic was satisfied.
"Release your medium transport. We're upgrading you to the Land Carrier. I'm giving you the survivors of the Sixth and Eighth Squads to bring you up in strength. You'll have the major blocking station at the south of Abel City."
"Last line?"
"Not last. But best."
She looked up at the map, at the road that led directly from Abel City's southern edge twenty-five kilometers south—and, at the end of the line, the spaceport that had been Repliforce's goal all along. The point of everything they had done—every attack and maneuver—had been solely to clear this route to the spaceport. Now that it was clear, their attacks had stopped, and they'd shifted over to running for it. The Hunters had to get there first.
"Once they've got the spaceport, there's no telling where they might go," Alia said. "You'll need to bag them before they get there."
"I understand. Lynchpin is deploying now."
How efficient of him. It made Alia smile.
"We don't know how many blocking positions might be between you and your destination," Alia went on, moving to her controls. "I'm grabbing all the recon mechaniloids we have left. We couldn't block every intersection, but neither can they. I'll find you the openings and thread you through."
"Roger."
With her initial orders issued, Alia had a moment to glare at the master map. "Alright," she whispered self-indulgently. "You guys had your chance. You gave us your best shot.
"Our turn."
Then she was speaking into her radio again. There was, after all, a lot of work to do. In her world, there always was.
Next time: Sauve Qui Peut