General had never imagined there were so many stars.

It seemed impossible. He'd rarely looked at the sky in his short life, and when he had, he'd never seen anything like this. (He hadn't heard of light pollution. This was typical. He was ignorant of many of the things that shaped his perceptions and realities.)

There were so many stars, he thought. Not just points of light, but shifting, twinkling mysteries, in far more colors than he'd expected, from the brightest blues to the dullest reds. And there was more, besides—clusters and clouds and planets and more things than he'd ever expected to see.

Paradox. How can space be so empty when there's so much in it?

And it was so very quiet.

That, at least, he understood. The mood in the shuttle was beyond somber. They'd fit all of Repliforce's survivors into a single shuttle. Fewer than forty had gotten away. Not one in ten… if you counted the support staff, not even one reploid in twenty had made it to the shuttle. The rest were abandoned, killed in action, or worse.

General had known from the beginning that losses would be high, but he'd been completely unprepared for this.

He'd been ready to lose Colonel—Colonel had explained to him that inevitability. But he hadn't been prepared to lose the whole Honor Guard in the process. He hadn't been prepared to lose every section chief, every officer but one, every Lancer but two. He hadn't been prepared for so many to die.

A better general would have kept more alive. A better general would not have been compelled to declare sauve qui peut, and watch even that gambit do little more than accelerate the slaughter. A better general would have made of Repliforce a nation, not a hamlet.

But Repliforce didn't have a better general. All they had was unworthy him. The fact that they still followed, still respected, still obeyed, still… trusted…

I don't deserve this.

It overwhelmed him.

It was the only thing that kept him moving forward. If he could save these forty, that would make it all worth it.

"Remember," he said, breaking the silence, "that we're not done yet. One more battle remains. Avoid killing unnecessarily—we still have our pride to uphold. But move carefully, and protect each other. That's what's most important."

The soldiers all showed affirmation, one way or another.

"I will lead the way," General promised. "If any more danger falls on us, let it fall on me first. I couldn't do more for our brothers… but I will do everything I can for you."

It had to be this way, he knew. Only a handful of the passengers were soldiers, and of those only a few still carried weapons—their other arms had been discarded to save time, space, or weight. Still, it sounded noble enough. It was in character. He saw acceptance in the audience. They bought it. He wasn't just a failure, then—he was also a fraud.

He looked out the window again, at the astounding starscape, the infinite emptiness. There was room for them, wasn't there? Room for a few dozen refugees. It was such a big universe.

Let the humans and the Hunters have their Earth. They could keep it. Let Repliforce be lost amongst the stars.

The shuttle drifted on, its destination certain and singular.

X walked on to the watch floor. He went without pausing to Grant. Grant noticed him before he got there. "Turn around and go back out," Grant ordered. "You have to get to the spaceport…"

"Before that," X said, "I have to make my report."

"A report you couldn't make over normal channels?" Alia said, suddenly interested.

"Mind your business," said Grant sharply. "Very well then, X. Report."

"Mission complete," X said.

"No it's not," objected Alia. "Repliforce is still out there. We're computing the trajectory of the shuttle, and…"

She trailed off when she saw understanding pass between X and Grant. Frustration swelled up in her. Secret missions at a time like this?

She didn't know the half of it. X hadn't mentioned his detour to his quarters, or the handful of memory chips that were now securely and secretly held in a special carrying case. Rising Fire wasn't the only weapon X had taken from Magma Dragoon.

"Thank you for your report," Grant said icily, "but it could have waited. I need you, now, to go to the spaceport. You have to board any operational shuttle and take off after Repliforce."

"We still don't know where they're going," said Alia.

"I do," said Grant.

"You do?"

"Yes," confirmed Grant. "They're going to Final Weapon."

Neither X nor Alia had an immediate response to that. Neither did anyone else on the watch floor, even though everyone was listening in on this conversation.

"Final Weapon?" said X, and many were surprised to hear a hint of anger in his voice.

"Look, I didn't name it," said Grant.

"What's Final Weapon?"

"An until-now-classified government project to build a mass driver in orbit," said Grant.

"A mass driver?" said X incredulously.

"Yes," said Grant. "It was supposed to be used to give Repliforce on-call fire support."

"And now they're going to use it for exactly that purpose," Alia said. "Do I need to start an evacuation before they turn Hunter Base to glass?"

"It's not online yet," said Grant. "It'll be another few hours before it's ready to fire."

The pieces clicked together. "This was why you wanted a delaying strategy," Alia accused. "You wanted to delay Repliforce until Final Weapon came online, then use it to blast them out of existence."

"Yes," Grant said bluntly. "That was the plan."

"And you didn't tell anyone about it," said Alia. "We were making plans and giving orders in the dark. You kept us blind to your intent."

"That was my prerogative under the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" X said, making it sound like an accusation.

"Don't you know from operations security?" Grant said scornfully.

X took a step forward—the most threatening gesture most of the crowd had ever seen from him. "I wrote the Hunter OpSec manual!"

"Then you understand," said Grant, unimpressed. "You know one reason why I had to keep this information close to the vest. Any insecurity of transmissions- anything that tipped our hand that we were planning to use Final Weapon- and we'd have given the plan away to Repliforce. That would have made this war much harder."

"Transmissions security doesn't apply here on the watch floor," Alia said, eyes narrowing.

X nodded in agreement. "That's a bad reason, Commander. I hope your others are better."

"Watch your tongue, robot," sniped Grant.

The room grew very quiet.

"You know the other reason," Grant murmured softly, as if for X's ears alone. "You know why, right now, we must be very careful to follow all government rules. Why we have to make a great show of meticulous loyalty."

X's mind flew back again to a hidden case holding memory chips. Memory chips that would put paid to any notion of "meticulous loyalty" from the Hunters.

"I'm the only person in the Hunters cleared to know about Final Weapon," Grant went on. "If you all knew about it when you weren't supposed to... I mean, we just declared Repliforce Maverick for breaking government policies. I couldn't let the same thing happen to us Hunters."

"But that doesn't pass muster," X objected. "Even if you'd kept the secret perfectly, you still would have blown it the moment you started firing from Final Weapon." He frowned. "The moment… you… started firing from Final Weapon…" He looked up. "You wanted Final Weapon for the Hunters, didn't you?"

"If it was already built, we'd be fools not to use it for its designed purpose," said Grant.

"You actually wanted this war," said X, vibrating with anger. "You already wanted Repliforce gone because of money and politics. Final Weapon tipped the scales. From then on, you were looking for any excuse. I did everything I could to try and stop this war, but you helped it along. You interpreted Repliforce's every action in the most sinister possible light. Why? Because they had to die so you could loot their toys."

"Don't get sanctimonious with me about using the weapons of the dead, Mega Man X," Grant sneered.

"Yes," X whispered as he went still. "That is who I am, isn't it?"

The room shifted, almost imperceptibly, in that moment. If Alia didn't know better she would have sworn she felt a breeze.

X looked over to Alia. "Are there any shuttles left at the spaceport, or did Repliforce destroy them all?"

"They left one, according to the Zeroth," she answered.

"That's my ride, then. Prepare a transport to take me there."

"It'll be ready before you get to the hangar," was the reply.

"Where's Double?" X asked with a frown.

"Taking supplies to the Seventeenth," Alia said. "Why?"

X shook his head. "Later. Commander, how long until Final Weapon is ready to fire?"

"Five hours and six minutes," Grant answered. Suspicion laced his voice.

"No time for a recharge, then," said X. "I'll just have to rely on e-tanks. My mission is to go to Final Weapon. I will keep Repliforce from firing it, if I can. Before things get even worse. And when this is over, you and I will talk... policy. And chain of command. And the future of Hunter leadership."

He moved out of the watch floor.

In his wake, one operator whispered to another, "He sure acts like a commander sometimes, doesn't he?"

"If only he would all the time."

X heard more than he let on. But he didn't hear everything.

"Woah, woah—take cover!"

The three members of the Seventeenth Squad dodged out of the way as the transport, hover engines howling, slid into the hangar. As soon as it touched down they stormed over to it. Its cargo door dropped open, revealing Double and a crate.

"You maniac!" complained the leader of the trio. "Don't you realize that this shuttle is on hot standby? It can launch in two minutes, unless some idiot smashes it, and it's our only way to follow Repliforce!"

"I didn't realize—whoops!" The crate slid down the transport's ramp, uncontrolled; Double tumbled after it. His crash made the Hunters wince as much in embarrassment as in sympathy. "At least I brought you these supplies," he said, patting the crate and pulling himself to his feet.

Intrigued and power-starved, the Hunters approached the crate. The lead palmed the crate open. His expression immediately soured. "Radios?" he exclaimed. "You brought us a crate of radios!"

"Did I?" said Double dully. He sidled up next to the Hunters to look into the crate with them.

"We don't need more radios, you idiot, we need e-tanks and ammunition!"

"Thanks for nothing," said another Hunter.

"Ohhhh," said Double sheepishly. He put a hand behind his head with a goofy, apologetic grin. "Sorry about this!"

And then something strange began to happen.

Double's form began to glow slightly. His mass seemed to become molten, to flow into a new form. His size didn't change, and his frame didn't change, but his shape became something entirely different.

"Sorry about this," he said again.

The Hunters stood still, unreacting except to gape. What they were seeing wasn't possible. The only thing they could do was watch it happen.

Double's transformation continued before their stricken eyes. The round, unthreatening mass of his torso slimmed, distributed into a sleeker form. His legs thickened, and his forearms bulked up into the heavily armored, weapons-housing forearms of a combat reploid.

"Sorry about this," he said one last time, voice dripping with irony.

The Hunters had a split second to react. They couldn't get there. Cognitive dissonance is so very powerful. It freezes the mind, anchors the legs. When the dissonance is because a harmless thing has suddenly become a dangerous thing, it petrifies as surely as a basilisk's stare.

A mortal threat was right next to the Hunters, they had let it get there, and the only thought that could fit into their heads was the terror-laced certainty that they were about to die.

Which was correct.

Double brought his hand out from behind his head. As he did, a beam of energy surged out from his wrist. It sliced into the nearest Hunter, cleaving him open. Another stroke separated the second Hunter's head from his shoulders.

The third Hunter had a chance to react. Unfortunately, as fear-wracked as he was, the instinct that prevailed was the instinct to run.

He didn't make it far. Double stabbed him in the back and rode him to the ground. When they landed, Double pinned his victim down and stabbed, and stabbed again, and again, and again until the last of the Hunter's death spasms stilled.

Satisfied, Double stood, and laughed. "Thank you for delivering me such a lovely magnet," he said to the corpses around him. "Let's see whom we can attract with it."

"Welcome to Final Weapon," said the human. "I'm Bob Anderson. I'm in charge here for the next minute or two, until you lot are ready to say otherwise. I'd shake your hand, but it doesn't look like that'd work."

"You're… friendly," said General, off-balance.

"Not much point in bein' anything else," the human replied. "My orders were to resist to the last, but I ain't got squat to resist with, so I figure I've followed orders well enough for today."

General smiled. "I'm glad to finally encounter someone reasonable. I was starting to believe they didn't exist."

Bob laughed. "What's it say to you that ya had to leave Earth before it happened?"

"Plenty," said General with a sigh. He looked to his side. "Reconnoiter. It should be safe. Report back in ten."

"Roger," said one of the few remaining soldiers, and with three more at his back he set off deeper into Final Weapon.

"It's safe," said Bob. "I'd face a union grievance if it weren't."

An all-human construction crew, General remembered. Hopefully that meant there were plenty of facilities they could discard and convert, to make room for Repliforce's full complement of survivors.

"When will the weapon be ready?" General asked.

Bob looked disappointed. "Ya had to go an' ask about that, didn't ya?"

"It is rather the reason we came," said General drily. "If we'd stayed on Earth, this weapon would have been our doom. With it in our possession, we can deter Earth from chasing us. Despite our appearance, I'd really rather have peace now."

"You lot do look like you've had a good shellackin'," said Bob.

"So when will it be ready?" General asked patiently.

"That depends," said Bob.

"On what?"

"On whether or not you'll be lettin' mah folks go home."

"Absolutely," said General. "We don't need any more killing, and, frankly, you're in the way. I do need you to teach me how to use the weapon, first."

"That's a big ask. Why?"

"So that we can defend ourselves."

Bob leaned in confidentially. "How 'bout this?" he said. "How 'bout I don't teach you how to use the weapon, but I tell the world ya figured it out on yer own?"

General frowned. "So that they believe we can defend ourselves."

"But I don't get in trouble for sleepin' with the enemy. And we get out of your hair—er, hands—faster, which is a win for both of us."

"Will they believe that?"

"The controls ain't exactly complex. They'll buy it."

General looked up. "Where were you when this war was starting?"

"Up here in space," laughed Bob. "Things are simple up here in space. They gotta be. Lemme tell ya, when you spend all day within a few millimeters of hard vacuum, there ain't no room for misunderstandin'."

"The terms of your surrender, then," said General formally. "Pending a satisfactory result from my recon team, we will take possession of Final Weapon. All of your people will board the shuttle and take it back to Earth. Upon your arrival, you will inform the human government that Repliforce possesses Final Weapon and knows how to use it, but will only use it in self-defense."

"You got a deal," said Bob.

General smiled. "That went more smoothly than I could have expected."

"I told you, it's from bein' here in space," said Bob. "You'll see. If you live long up here, you'll experience… clarity." Bob nodded. "You'll see."

"I hope so," said General.

Rekir knew this feeling. It was fuzzy, formless, unfocused- and yet Rekir had survived three wars and countless firefights by always listening to it.

Danger.

"Something's not right," he said.

Des, a fellow Zeroth Squad Hunter, looked to him. "What do you mean, sir?"

Rekir frowned as they approached the mouth of the hangar. A Hunter transport was sitting lengthwise across the mouth of it, blocking most of his vision inside. "Tell me again what you were told," he said.

"That a Hunter transport was here to resupply us before we continue our mission," Des said. "They ordered us to rotate assignments around and come here for resupply a few at a time, to make sure our perimeter stays strong."

It sounded reasonable. It sounded fine.

It felt wrong.

Still Rekir's momentum carried him into the hangar. Around the side of the transport. There was a crate of supplies, at the bottom of the transport's cargo ramp—made perfect sense. And there was a Hunter beside it, ready to disburse—

A shot rang out.

It took Double off of his feet with a yelp of surprise and pain.

Instinct had demanded it of Rekir, and he had obeyed, even if he didn't know why.

"Sir!" said Des, grabbing a hold of Rekir's buster barrel. "What have you done?"

"Leggo!" said Rekir, trying to wrestle the buster back into his hands. "You don't understand—"

Movement.

Almost without thought Rekir turned the buster so it pointed straight up and twisted to the side.

When the pink energy beam came, it sliced through the buster barrel. The extra resistance stole just enough energy that Des wasn't killed instantly. What was left of the buster came free into Rekir's grasp. He brought it to bear.

Another snap shot hit the enemy at point blank range. This time the answer wasn't a yelp, but a growl—a more threatening, dangerous sound from a more threatening, dangerous enemy. It lashed out with a kick that sent Rekir tumbling from the strength of it.

Old hat. Nothing he hadn't seen or felt before. Practiced reflex brought Rekir back to a crouch, his rifle-turned-pistol fully extended, ready to fire.

At a foe that was no longer there.

Rekir froze, maximizing his situational awareness. No sound. No sign of movement. Nothing visible.

Oh, this guy was good.

"You're very sharp, Rekir," a voice called out. Rust—it was echoing in this space, angled so that Rekir couldn't track it down. "Very sharp. I was wondering if you'd lived so long just by hiding behind Zero, or if you had teeth of your own."

Rekir did a lightning review of his situation. Weapon damaged. Effective range halved, damage output down two-thirds. Three smoke bombs and one high-ex left. Teammate—

He glanced over.

-alive but ineffective. Reinforcements unlikely.

My are-en-gee has turned bad, hasn't it?

Had to happen sooner or later. Rust me.

As if reading his mind, the voice called out, "Zero's not here now, though. You're on your own."

Rekir got to his feet, carefully, never losing awareness of his surroundings. He shuffled over to Des, who was moaning and smoking slightly. Rekir took a cursory look at him. No—no way he'd be doing any fighting.

There—two quick blasts took out what was moving. Trash can. A test. Or a distraction. He aimed back along the axis the can had come from, but there was nothing.

"I'll have to be careful with you, if I'm going to take your squads apart two-by-two," the voice taunted.

This had been a trap all along. But Rekir knew that, on a level below thought. Too bad knowing wouldn't save him.

There was no time to waste wallowing in that fact. While the voice was still talking, Rekir hauled Des onto a flatbed cart. Let it be motorized… yes. Mechaniloid, in fact, with a very basic interface. It'll do.

It took several long, painful seconds for Rekir to get it to understand his orders. He couldn't spare more than a quarter of his attention to the task, not and keep his situational awareness intact. Any lapse, if the enemy noticed it, would have lethal consequences.

There. Ready.

In quick succession, he threw his last grenade, hit the mechaniloid's control panel, and threw a smoke grenade.

The smoke grenade went off first, billowing out near the crate in front of the transport. The cart lurched into motion, aimed on a course clear away from the hangar. The grenade landed on top of the transport with a benign clinking sound, then let out a percussive bang that filled the hangar with the sound.

Rekir was on the move.

If he was on top of the transport, watching for any attempt to escape, the grenade scared him off. If he was lower, he'd back away from the smoke in case I came charging out of it. That gives enough clearance for Des to get away.

I'm the dangerous one, and he knows it. He can get Des later, but he has to kill me now.

Rekir circled broadly, coming around behind the shuttle. He kept Des within his line of sight for as long as possible, just in case their attacker made a move to finish off his victim, but it looked like Rekir's gamble was paying off.

"Admirably clever," came the voice. "It's too bad you're so underpowered. Imagine what you could do with even a little strength! As it is, you stand no chance against me."

What a blabbermouth. Rekir knew he was supposed to be intimidated, but he already knew the score. He was too terrified to be intimidated, and too experienced to let terror control him. As he came around the back of the shuttle, he grabbed another smoke grenade and tossed it in a high arc. He didn't care where it landed. It was just for distraction, to make the enemy think he had a plan.

He didn't, really. Just a destination. Now that Des was away, there was only one worry left.

He broke into a full sprint as he emerged from behind the shuttle. He picked his way through the various hangar equipment, tools, hoses—a miniature obstacle course. He was fully aware he could be attacked at any time, as soon as the enemy was comfortable predicting his course. He couldn't think about that.

He slowed down just a touch so he could loft his last smoke grenade. It landed nearby the crate and belched out its payload. Rekir vaulted the last obstacle and touched down in front of the crate. A crate full of radios.

He hauled one out, grabbed the receiver, mashed two buttons—

And jerked away just in time as the energy blade came ripping down, slicing through the receiver cord and Rekir's left arm. The smoke hadn't impeded the enemy's aim at all.

Rekir fell to the ground. He brought the buster-pistol around as he went down. One more shot blasted into the yellow frame of his attacker. It didn't slow or deter him. The energy blade came stabbing down, piercing Rekir's shoulder. His arm went limp.

"Nicely done," Rekir said through a wince, "Double, you traitor."

"Why thank you," said the Maverick. "Your caution is famous, but it didn't save you. You know, I was afraid you were on to me for a while, but you never pursued. You gave up, and now look at you! All you Hunters are too trusting by half."

Rekir gave a pained grin. "It's an occupational hazard of being the good guys."

"Hunters… the good guys!" Double laughed. "That's a good one. Thank you, Rekir, I needed that."

Rekir tried to move, but the energy blade didn't, and he only succeeded in burning up more of his shoulder. "I still don't see what this gets you or the Mavericks," he said. "So what if you knock off a few Hunters? We lose Hunters all the time."

"But not all Hunters are you," said Double.

Rekir frowned—the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. "What's special about me?"

"You're close to Zero," Double said. "He relies on you. While he has you, he's not alone, and the Master wants him alone. That's why you have to die."

Rekir chuckled. "Me? Close to Zero? You Mavericks don't know him at all."

"Oh, we do," said Double. "Better than you could possibly imagine."

"Obviously not. He won't miss me. He won't even remember my name."

It was Double's turn to frown. "Are you trying to make excuses? Trying to get me to spare your life?"

"Hardly. I'm just trying to keep you talking. Haven't you been hearing your own voice?"

"What do you—what?!" Double's head jerked to the side, trying to track the sound. "What did you do?" That time he heard it better. A muffled version of his voice was coming from the radios still in the crate.

Rekir nodded at the radio with the cut cord.

Outrage swept across Double's face. "How?"

"Funny thing about these radios," said Rekir. "It's buried in the documentation that nobody ever reads… They have an emergency setting. Hit star-four on a radio, and it starts transmitting whatever it picks up through the center transceiver. It blasts it out on every Hunter frequency except thirteen and sixteen, which Operators are supposed to use to vector in response.

"The Hunters know about you now, Double," Rekir said with a savage grin. "No one else is falling into your trap. Heh, it looks like you don't know all the tricks just ye—"

Double killed him. Then overkilled him from sheer aggravation. Then he stood and tore the radio apart for the same reasons.

One frail, underpowered, generic Hunter wasn't supposed to foul up his plans, no matter how experienced or wily he was! He'd ruined everything! There were more names on Double's assassination list that he didn't know how he'd get to now, and if he couldn't kill them all he'd better do something of equal worth or risk the wrath of—

Movement. He whirled, ignited his energy beam.

"I'm angry, too," came a lilting, almost sing-song voice.

Double froze in place. He knew this body, this frame, but he'd be rusted if this was the same person. "Iris?" he asked dubiously.

"Iris is dead," she replied. Her eyes went out of focus, as if she'd said something surprising and had to think about it. "Iris? I meant Colonel." She brightened and smiled. "Same thing, really."

"How did you get here?"

"You weren't paying attention when you loaded your transport," she said seriously. "I understand. You had a lot on your mind. It was filling me up with all the things on your mind. And I was full-overfull already, so you can imagine where that left poor me!"

It was a gift. Another name on his list, another link to Zero offering itself up to be severed. And yet… it didn't seem right, somehow, to touch this thing that had been Iris.

"I should kill you," he said.

"If you'd like," she said amiably. "But we would rather you take us to space."

"Huh?"

"Colonel wanted to go to space more than anything," she said, raising her arms like she was trying to get there herself. "And I wanted to go to a place where only reploids exist. Hey, that's a Maverick thing, isn't it? And you're a Maverick. So you should want to go to space, too. That's logic, that is," she said seriously.

She was broken, Double knew. Shattered. Beyond repair. He didn't need to kill her. She was already…

Wait. "Does that mean you want to be a Maverick?" he asked.

"Maverick, bo-Baverick, fo-Faverick… Maverick again? That's no good. Oh—were you asking? I think we already are Maverick."

Unsteady ground. "Do you want to kill Hunters?" he tried instead.

"That's what I'm saying," she said patiently. "We already are Maverick."

"Who's we?"

She laughed. What should have been a merry noise was a chorus of dissonance. "That's a hole with no bottom."

Okay. So she was broken and couldn't make sense. But there might be an opportunity here, all the same. A chance…

A chance to fulfill a different mission, and maybe survive in the bargain.

"I'll take you to space," he said.

"Wonderful! I'd hug you but then you'd kill us and then we'd never get to space and that would be more horrible than anything!"

Reploids didn't need to breathe. That meant, Double noted with concern, that there was no physical limit to how much Iris could speak.

"We need to move that transport first," he said, trying to refocus. "Can you do it?"

"What, that transport?" She looked at Double's ride with a frown. "No, it doesn't want to move. Can't you tell? And I've never been good at making people do things."

If Double listened to much more of this then he'd go mad. "Get on the shuttle while I move the transport."

"Oh, yes," she agreed, "the shuttle definitely wants to move. It's aching to move. It's bursting to move. It's…"

Double ran away from her and boarded the transport. He didn't have to move it far—just out of the way of the shuttle.

"It wants to go to space as badly as we do which is quite a lot and that's good because if it didn't I don't know how we'd get to space and…"

Double tore the transport's radio out of its console. He couldn't deal with it. Riding in an enclosed shuttle with this creature? This plan had better be worth it, he thought.

Next time: Love