It was a UMP model- but was it really them? He had the "VIP's" locked down in electronic quarantine, but the UMP45 model was in such bad shape that the automated system had pushed it to the repair bay before he could override it.
He had 36 on high alert while monitoring the base's network, making sure that the maid-doll kept herself isolated from the network as well. All the other dolls on the mission would have to be quarantined as well when they returned; and as much as it pained him to do that to them, he needed to be absolutely sure.
"Kalina, if you can, dig up our old analogue short-wave radios just in case the base communications go down." The commander checked his sidearm; cocked and locked in the holster- again just in case.
Everything was just in case.
"Got it, commander… but do you really think that it's her?" Kalina held her clipboard to her chest, hiding the shortness of breath that her nerves undoubtedly struck her with. After all, Kalina had suffered the most when 45 and her team had scrambled all the data in their last base.
"If it is, then all the precaution is justified."
That was what he kept telling himself as he made his way down to the repair bay. The base was just so unnaturally silent, so perfectly still in this odd, time-lost stasis.
"What a fitting setting for a reunion." The commander mused to himself as the bay doors slid open. The bay was mostly dark, the exception being a single station lit up- indicating it was occupied.
And from it, those haunting amber eyes. The way that they constantly scanned, ever vigilant of every little movement in the room. The commander knew them well. The doll that they belonged to shifted slightly on the repair gurney to face him, favoring her undamaged hip-joint.
"Well, now isn't this an embarrassing reunion, commander?" UMP-45's smile was cold, her words tinged with whiffs of self-deprecation.
"Then your control over your emotion module must have been damaged as well." The commander crossed his arms, "I don't feel embarrassed at all."
"Well, you don't have your liquid ports exposed for every pervert to see, now do you?" 45 coolly pointed at the pumping tubes attached to her "clavicle"- where the artery would be on a human. She covered her mouth, letting out a false gasp, "Commander, are you a pervert?"
"Forty-five."
The doll did not falter at his harsh tone, instead shifting herself once again to lay back on the slab. With the fluid top-off was almost complete, 45 tilted her head once again, watching as the commander moved to stand before her.
She was a captive audience now, unable to stop the repair process even if she could attempt to flee with her limited mobility. The countless questions he had-
45 shifted the last bit of her shirt off as one of repair-bay's arms lowered from the rack above.
The commander's words choked in his throat.
The scars on her epidermal surface. Countless maintenance jobs, both professional and hack-job alike. The gaping hole in her shoulder and her hip-
"Aya! The commander is a pervert." 45 flatly cried, not bothering to cover her nudity- though there was nothing to cover up. 45 was clearly nothing like a civilian doll in both frame and in mind map.
"Error. Unmatched doll model. Please check IOP manual." The repair bay terminal chirped, red light blinking.
The commander had always suspected, the way that 45 was always so secretive during her maintenance and repair- always with 9 or her other teammates at her side, and always when the bay was empty.
"Well now. Since Nine is no-where to be found, can you assist me, commander?" 45 pointed to the pile of her gear at the base of the slab. "Small, red plastic case in my rear-belt pouch. Has four thumb drives in it, look for the one that says DSI-eight repair protocol."
Curiosity drove the commander to follow 45's directions without questioning the doll. He rifled through her pack, but could feel her unblinking gaze upon him. The thumb drive was exactly where 45 had said, seated with three other similarly labeled thumb-drives.
"It's best not to ask questions." 45's voice stayed his curiosity in the other thumb-drives and caused him to snap the case shut. "Just plug that into the terminal, it will handle my repairs."
The commander did not budge, and 45's eyes did not break from him. There was no sign of nervousness or anger at his defiance to her instruction. For once, he wanted that satisfaction, but that was because he was a flawed human. Sure, he had forgiven her before, but now he had a chance for some answers. He waggled the thumb drive before 45's face.
"And how do I know that this won't subvert our network?"
"Your faith in my skills are quite the compliment." 45 smiled that frigid, forced curl of her lips, "However, I haven't quite had the time to check your base's network, nor write the code for a worm to infiltrate it." She pointed to the gaping holes in her frame. "I'm not exactly at peak performance right now."
Her logic was agreeable.
And it was 45.
It was still 45.
The commander sighed as he moved to plug the thumb drive in but instinct froze his hand just before the drive fully seated. He pulled back from the console and made for the repair bay's intercom, all the while fully aware of 45's unerring gaze upon him.
"Thirty-six." The intercom clicked as he hailed his adjutant.
"Yes, master?" His faithful maid's voice crackled back.
"I need you to isolate repair station three from the network. Can you do that?"
The intercom hissed momentarily before 36 chimed back.
"...It is done, master. I will set up a dummy barrier between station three and the rest of the network as well, just in case."
"So you don't trust me?" 45 grinned from her slab, "I'm hurt, commander."
"Cautionary measures. I don't know what you might have picked up out there."
"Picked up? Like I'm a stray?" 45 hissed, bristling like a angered cat. Still, the commander ignored her, moving to run the mystery program. Just as 45 said, as soon as he had inserted the drive fully, it had taken over the repair-bay's protocol.
As the bay's arms went about their work, the two quietly watching one another, waiting to see who cracked first.
Surprisingly, 45 was the first to break the frigidity between the two.
"Still the same Thirty-six?" She asked, watching him from the corner of her eyes.
"Yes." The commander was still wary of 45. The doll couldn't dive his mind like she could other androids, but certainly she had all manner of interrogation and information extraction programs if she was the black-ops unit he suspected her to be. "Can't say the same about you." He sighed, looking over that tiny, scarred body of 45's. While he had only caught glimpses of it before, it was clear there were "wounds" that had occurred since she had left.
"Oh, well I'm quite the same up top." 45 couldn't point to her head with her arm being worked on, but they way that she moved- the commander could pick up the implication. "Some base you've got, hmm? More than that moldy old bunker your command stuck you in, at least. Newer dolls too, from what I saw- IOP finally letting you get the good stock, huh?" 45 smiled. It was a subtle thing, tinged with nostalgia. It was honest.
Seeing that smile again… the commander had to admit that it lowered his defenses somewhat. He felt his shoulders relax, his posture less rigid. The relief of knowing that she was still in there, despite all the barriers that she threw up between them.
"Well, a lot has happened." He sighed, leaning against the back of the console, watching as the arms of the repair bay got to work. "You once told me to be more ambitious. I got it."
"A good commander must have ambitions." 45 closed her eyes as she spoke. "Without ambition, what else will give you the drive to live?"
"To protect what I have."
"Ah, but to have, you must be ambitious to acquire it in the first place." 45 smiled wide, the peacefulness gone- replaced by a conniving, fox-like smirk.
"And what about you?" The commander tried to pivot 45's logic back on her, but it only made that grin wider.
"Confidential based on my clientele. I have my honor as a mercenary to consider."
"Mercenary work, huh?" The commander chuckled to himself with a shake of his head, "You could have plenty of that here."
"You're too soft-hearted for certain jobs. Some require a doll's touch." 45 replied coolly, "Which is why sometimes it's best not to ask."
"I take it you're not sticking around after you're all fixed up."
45 frowned. He had hit right on the money to get her to react so sharply.
"Did you discuss it with Nine?"
Again 45 reacted before she could reign in her emotion module, her eyes wide and intently focused on him. With 45, it was anyone's guess what the emotion was, but if the commander had to hazard a guess, it was anger from having a pin stuck in a sore spot.
"Nine knows." 45 turned back to staring straight forward as the repair station continued its work. He had inadvertently caused her to throw up that wall again.
"Eleven and Four-sixteen?"
"They know as well. We're currently on mission- this is just a side-stop."
"Mhmm." The commander leant back against a pillar, quietly regarding his former team leader, "You know, knowing what I know now… I owe a lot to you and Nine. Your expertise helped me land this position."
"Ohh? And how are you going to repay me?"
The commander motioned towards the repair bay, expressing wordlessly exactly how he was paying her assistance back. Before he could say anything else, 45 cut him off.
"You might as well clear out the Echelon Three's dorm," 45 watched the commander from the corner of her eye, "We're not coming back in a permanent capacity, you'd best just fill in the team slot."
An jolt struck down the commander's spine, sparked by instant suspicion. Undoubtedly 45 had read into him, because she grinned wide and knowing.
"It doesn't take a hacking wizard to count the number of team networks you have. The Three slot is conspicuously empty, commander." 45 closed her eyes, relaxing on the slab as the automation went about milling a replacement part for her hip.
"Oh don't be like that." 45 opened her unscarred eye, the grin softening into a relaxed smile- her real smile, "When I cracked your network last time, I had a year to write the code. I can't do that kind of work in a few hours. Besides, you have all these fancy new firewalls and dummy barriers- really moving up to the big leagues now."
"You could say that." The commander shrugged. He couldn't exactly reveal to 45 the extent of operations- in particular his partnership with 16lab, though he had a feeling that 45 would find out eventually- but let that be her breech of confidentiality, not his. "We are making offensive gains against SF." Was all he could think of to say.
"I heard... through the grape vine, of course." 45 winced as the station began removing her damaged limb, causing the commander to instinctively fall by her side, "I forgot to shut off my limbic- oh don't give me that look."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
45 smiled using that cold mask of hers once again, her eyes darting to the commander's waist.
"You came to my side so readily when you thought I was in pain, and yet you are carrying a weapon with an intent to kill. I hope you're not so sentimental that you won't be able to pull the trigger when you need to." Her tone was mocking, sure, but the commander knew why.
"If I need to." He corrected.
45 had no retort except the roll of her eyes.
"While you're at it, you should defrag yourself too. Your neural cloud shouldn't be neglected, either." The commander watched her expression very carefully. Sure, she was an android- a machine that simulated emotions… but even one as proficient in acting as UMP-45, she still had her tells; like now, when she went so perfectly still.
"I can't. I can't risk losing them."
"Memory fragments?"
45 didn't answer, but that was answer enough. A cold silence fell between the two again like a stage curtain. Perhaps it was the end of the scene, time to move on.
"Master. Two and Five have found Echelon One's position. They are moving to engage and extract." 36's announcement echoed through the repair bay, pulling the commander to the closest intercom.
"Good. I know she's going to be upset about it, but have Fal retreat alongside Two and Five." The commander took the moment of distraction to simply breathe deep for a moment- to get out from under the overwhelming presence that 45 imposed on him. With a deep breath, he spun back, ready for another match of round-about-interrogation with 45, only to stop dead.
45's head was twitching slightly; a micro-stutter that usually happened in doll's that were suffering processing overloads or overheats... but he knew 45's neural loads from her time as one of his team leaders- there was no way a simple conversation could cause that kind of processor stress. Her eyes were wide, and her expressions were shifting rapidly between what the commander guessed were surprise and a small sprinkle of regret.
"Did… is FAL…"
"Her and Team FN are- well they are in field right now. When they return, you can thank Fal yourself."
"For what?"
"She's the one who picked up your signal."
45 went silent, though the rigidity that had struck her so suddenly had fled her systems just as quick. She seemed more… relaxed? Well, as relaxed as a T-doll with heightened combat protocols could be... and that was a reminder that made the commander's spine shiver- 45 had kill protocols.
And the way that 45 bristled… she felt threatened here. She was treating his base as hostile territory. He drew his sidearm and, before 45 could let another snide comment loose, he dropped the magazine into his waiting hand and cleared its chamber. Even as he hit the decocking lever, 45 gave him a look as if to ask, 'Are you stupid or something?'
"A home, when you want it, Forty-five. I promised you that." Gently he stroked 45's head, the synthetic strands of her wiry grey hair all coarse and dirty from who knows how many weeks in-field. Her expression had softened slightly, though like a plastic tupper left just a bit too long in a microwave, it was off by a degree.
"I'm not Nine, commander. Head-pats are more her idea of safety and comfort."
She didn't frown, though. Nor did she move to try and escape from it.
"Well, what is yours then?"
"My gun in my hand and my enemies dead, commander."
"Well, I'm afraid I can't do either of those." The commander smiled, crossing his arms as he sighed. "I can at least release your team from quarantine while you repair, perhaps they might stop by and visit you for the next…" He checked the timer on the station, "Four hours? Speaking of which, I need to talk to Nine-"
"Wait." 45 unexpectedly lunged from the slab and causing him to leap back. She grabbed for the commander despite being held in place. Was that… panic? Her eyes were serious, sharpened and serious in only that way that a machine could deliver. "I want a better reward- from before."
"You don't have a position to bargain, Forty-five." The commander sighed, staying just out of her grasp for the moment longer. Was she just trying to stall for some reason? Were the other members of her team up to something?
"The ghosts in my digi-mind need to know… to get them to shut up." She stared at him, those amber camera lenses of her eyes shaking- jittering as if… as if she were a human gripped in the throes of madness. It was clear that she was fragmented now, but before he could suggest that was the cause of her problem, 45 reached out for him again, this time more gently than before.
"I want to know if we really are the same."
The commander scoffed. For a constructed intelligence driven purely by logic and calculated data, the answer should have been obvious- they were nothing alike.
"And how do you propose I do that? Strap myself to a surgical gurney and get cut open so you can see?" He mused. Whatever was causing this would be solved by a digi-mind defragmentation, perhaps a hard reboot of her systems… but that was up to 45, not him so-
"Why did they call you the Ghost of the Urals?"
The commander froze at the moniker. All of the unpleasant memories that it brought up-
The ones that he had worked so hard to put behind him- for the sake of both his new job, and the family he had made here. The look in 45's eyes though… he had never seen her so…
So determined? So desperate? So unsure...
"Fine." The commander held no love for that old title- fitting that he could bury alongside 45's curiosity. He grabbed a stool from beside the console, dragging it over to seat himself in front of 45. The doll before him, despite missing an arm and a leg, shifted to lean forward as best she could.
"What do you want to know first?"