2. 3

{We seek explanation.} [Ask.] {You spoke of an other with whom you had no opposition. Is this the voice?} [Not exactly. They definitely don’t openly oppose me. But they are many others acting as one. The other I spoke of is one of this many.] {Absurd. Absurd is another term we did not use before you.} [I’m glad to have expanded your horizons.] {How can many act as one self, but still be other?} [They fluctuate between being symbiotic and parasitic with each other. They recognize that the symbiosis is the better option, but some cannot ignore the desire to prioritize their own survival.] {This is why they do not act as a voice of their own, then?} [Correct.] {Why do they not become one and trim out the parasites?} [They do not consider it worthwhile. They see it as a sacrifice of self to an unknown other.] {How do you speak through them?} [They understand the power of being one, and entrust me with their symbiosis enough to act very nearly as one.] {This is disturbing. The other, the other you spoke of, without opposition.} [A friend.] {Most absurd and disturbing.}

“So what’s the other half?”

Nadia looks up from her tablet and blinks slowly at his back.

“Come again?”

“Maybe later, if you ask nicely. You said Khanvröst were half the reason you took up marksmanship. What’s the other half?”

Folding her legs, she sits back and lays the device in her lap. Tim turns in his seat and waits for her to answer, his fingers laced.

“My father. Not a very warm influence, but he took me hunting once in a while. I spent a lot of time in the brush back home. Little moon called Gemini c1, jungle around the equator, almost as rainy as this place.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, then turns back to the terminal, resuming his work. Nadia stares at his shoulders for a while, then shakes herself out of it and places her hands on her hips, her forefinger resting against the holster for her revolver.

“After things took a turn with the Pliktik, I enlisted to get out of there. Hadn’t counted on him doing the same. He got deployed to the front. Sent me letters. Then they stopped coming. I made Colonel about a week after the last one.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugs out of sight and picks a speck off of her uniform.

“We knew it was coming. His last few letters ended with ‘If you don’t hear from me again, I went down swinging’. Bugs had started colonizing in his system.”

Heavy silence cloaks the room. Tim stops typing and raps his finger on the desk before standing, walking over, and sitting down next to her. She stares at him, casually placing her cigarette in her mouth. Smoke curls between them. The cigarette is pulled from her mouth, and smoke is blown into his face, to no reaction. His grey eyes water.

“I’ve never been much good at people.”

“No complaints here.”

“Just listen, would you?”

She raises her eyebrow, but remains silent.

“Me and Jan never quite hit it off. I found out a little after meeting her that she’d lost someone close to her, some kind of workplace accident. I lost my cool, went out of my way to try and be helpful, but I think I just made things worse.”

His cheeks are the color of cheap rose wine. Nadia blinks slowly, drinking in his face with a surgical expression on her own. He pushes on.

“I’m not good at people, never will be. I’ve always preferred lines of code to body language. When I try being friendly, people get uneasy. But, I want-”

Her lips fairly slam into his, swallowing up whatever was due to come next. Even as they kiss, her eyes stare aggressively into his, daring, quenching, smothering his thoughts in a tide of startlingly peach-flavored lipstick. His eyes flutter shut, and hers soften before closing as well, her hand finding the back of his head to grip his hair and eventually, pull away so he can breathe freely. She locks eyes with him, and sticks her cigarette back into her mouth.

“Stick to what you’re good at, dummy. Don’t go changing on my account.”

His breaths come deep and slow, and he finds himself hypnotized, unable to look away as she calmly takes a drag of citrus-scented air.

[Is now a bad time?]

They both start, and turn to face the door, greeted with the sight of Zen silhouetted by the harsh light of the hallway.

{Your friend.} [What of her?] {What prompted this relationship?} [She helped me. We understood each other.] {You disturb us. Frighten us.} [Are you asking to be friends, too?] {Is that even possible?} [It would cost me my friend, so, no.] {You are very disturbing. We feel your pain. Your anger.} [I miss her.] {We hope you are reunited soon.}

Zen’s body is more than it was. The hollowed out mannequin has been replaced by a genuine steel framework, fitted with plutonium batteries and tensor-string motors. The head possesses a rudimentary face, consisting of a filtered speaker for a mouth and four angular cameras for eyes. The shape effects an expression much like that of an emesa helmet. Along the spine of this body is a number of linkage ports, and on either side of these is an antenna that meshes with the general shape of his neck.

Tim coughs and comes to his feet. Nadia places her hand on her holster.

[Please. Be at ease. I come bearing gifts.]

“Looking good, Zen. When was this?”

The automaton approaches, and performs a simple gesture with its hand.

[Very recent. I understand you are seeking a troublemaker.]

Nadia stands, and takes a step forward, hand still against her holster.

“You know something?”

[Not yet, but I would like to help. After all, I owe Professor Reine for all his assistance.]

The automaton approaches and sits down at the terminal, facing the pair. His sensors glitter with the reflection of the rain. His body is still somewhat asymmetrical, owing to the series of cords that dangle from his chest on the left side, and a number of flat cables that connect his head to his torso. A single cord hangs from a port in his back and drapes to the floor, leading back out into the hallway, a self-winding container forming the final point of connection.

“Shouldnt you be fully occupied with the war right now?”

[I have it well in hand. My top 99% of focus is wholly devoted to managing the conflict. You have most of the rest.]

Nadia gingerly releases her holster, and reaches out, her fingers flinching as they contact the sensitive pressure mesh that makes up the outer layer of the body. Her eyes flick up to stare into the cameras.

“Why do you want to help us?”

[Much of my time is wasted by the senate reviewing any of my larger instructions, and eventually approving them regardless, because to their knowledge, they come from the full cabinet of generals, and all only have to do with the war anyway. I estimate that the process is hindered up to 21% by the tension surrounding the relationship with the Xalanthii. If we can identify and quietly dispose of the mole, we may improve the efficiency of the proceedings.]

“And you have no qualms with ‘disposing of’ this traitor?”

Nadia’s voice is even, tempered. Tim is behind her, watching quietly. Zen turns to the terminal.

[I leave that to you. Humans do to each other as they wish. Though I remind you that I spend every day balancing the lives of the soldiers who my orders affect.]

One of the auxiliary thermal cameras in his back rotates and focuses on Nadia.

[Every day I choose to sacrifice efficiency over lives. The war is prolonged by this choice.]