“Ah I see now, you constructed a new uniform in preparation for our arrival. I must commend your diligence in resupplying Singularity forces Private Yurten. In accordance with your substantial accomplishments you are hereby ordered to return to Singularity Staging Area 0001 and issue a full report directly to the Field Marshal himself. Pursuant to this course you and your squadrons shall vacate the premises immediately.” 1st LT says.

  I almost accept his offer. The chance to see Baz. To enter the same room as that sister-fucking-asshole? Oh, it would be perfect.

  If the flash training hadn’t killed Baz more effectively than a lobotomy. Tempting as power-fisting his stupid face is, I just won’t be satisfied unless he understands exactly why I want to murder him.

  “I’m sorry first lieutenant, my orders come from the Field Marshal himself, not one step back. We must press forward unto victory!” I shout, raising a fist and smile.

  The aids tense, shoulders tightening and I see more than half reach for their pistols. We only made them unload magazines, not remove any daggers -ceremonial or otherwise- and hand over explosives, which are currently sitting on a grav sled outside this room.

  Unfortunately for us, the datapads run off power cells that are interchangeable with C3 pistol cartridges, if any of these aids fancy themselves as tactical operators, they could rearm in seconds.

  “Yes yes, you’ve been a good trooper. It is time to be rewarded, to receive a promotion and join us as a fellow officer.” 1st LT says.

  The lie is obvious, only tempting to a soldier whose flashtraining is fully intact. The funny thing about flashtraining being instant and complete, is that soldiers can’t actually be promoted. They do not flashtrain officer qualities onto basic troops. So the only time a promotion would be logical, is if you’ve exceeded the training’s parameters.

  Sure a corporal might rise to take command of a sergeant’s role, or a sergeant might be forced to command two squads or even rise to the rank of a 2nd Lieutenant, but a private jumping five ranks to become a 1st lieutenant? Never.

  Besides, I have no knowledge of a Lieutenant's duties, nor any component of the officer’s flash training or any ability to function within the logistical maze of Singularity office politics. Part of me is impressed by this officer’s cunning, he’s got me dead to rights. No matter what I say it’ll be a death sentence. Return to Baz and be recursively retrained, or admit I’m a wig out here and now so the bioweapon can apply similar recursive retraining.

  Yep, 1st LT was definitely a corporate HR asshole. The dude you kept in a closet until it was time to fire someone.

  I laugh.

  Long and hard.

  We knew they were going to try something like this and they were kind enough to get it out of the way in seconds!

  “Haha! Oh LT, you can’t promote a paper bag, let alone a soldier. I’m almost insulted that you think trading command of a bunker for a bullet to the brain is a reasonable accolade.” I cackle, wiping a tear of mirth from my eye.

  His pistol is out of its holster and pointed at my forehead in a second. Smile never leaving my face as he pulls the trigger. I decide to salt the wounded pride of a fool.

  “You’re a broken ape who can’t even tell his pistol is unloaded. Never in a million lifetimes would I turn command of this base over to an incompetent like you. Use that brain for one second, I was dumped onto the frontlines without a squad or gun and yet I found a path to victory.

  I killed four Juggernauts!” I’m shouting now, slamming both palms into the wooden table to punctuate each sentence.

  “I salvaged their corpses and recovered enough abandoned souls to take this base!

  I killed hundreds of human beings!

  I conquered the Novan Technomancy of Steel!”

  And you waltz in here like a dung beetle come to pick up my shit? Hell no. What have you accomplished?!” I scream, looking down the barrel of his gun without an ounce of fear.

  My hands slap the table once more, smarting from the repeated blows. I really should have worn gloves, but at least I had time to trim these clear fingernails.

  “What have you done? Won a raffle that one in fifty people won?!” I shout, finally falling silent.

  His gun is still pointed between my eyes.

  “Fearless, tis truly regrettable. But I am taking this base.” He answers, pulling the trigger again.

  The pistol clicks, empty. A fact he hasn’t grasped.

  I let him see my eyes roll then.

  “You do not recognize the weight of an unloaded pistol because flash training throws off your self perspective. There is no power cell. You can’t feel it cause you only remember how light the pistol felt during flashtraining. But that wasn’t your flabby ass. It was a real warrior’s body. I bet that empty pistol feels heavier to you than a fully loaded rifle from your memories.”

  He stammers, one hand going to cover the gasmask.

  “What? I don’t understand! This weapon was bestowed upon me by the HOLY Singularity. It has to come with a power cell-”

  “Face the truth. Your memories are from a real warrior who earned his command and did more than carry that pistol, he used it everyday. When was the last time you actually shot someone with it?”

  I stick a finger in the magazine well running it down the corner where dust gathers during a reload. Then withdraw the digit. It, like the gun, is spotless.

  “You’ve never fired it. Probably never reloaded it either. That is why I have no fear, you couldn’t kill me if you wanted to.” I say, finally sitting down.

  1st LT is quivering, whole body shaking at the complete loss of face. I don’t need to see through his mask, it’s clear that veins are bulging an angry purple. Aides look from him to me and back again, mentally prohibited from understanding why this is no longer their LT.

  The bioweapon moves, two steps, no more, no less. Perfectly gauging the distance between him and the lieutenant. One hand rising.

  I’ve always known the bioweapons perceive the universe differently than humans, they’d have to, as they have no faces, no eyes, no mouth, no ears. But it was not until Beefcake faced me -head on- and karate chopped his officer’s neck do I realize exactly how detached they are.

  Fingers, declawed, unbarbed, standard looking human fingers, slash through 1st LT’s neck beheading him like one might casually dust their blinds. There is no strength in the chop, no hesitation. Simply a knife hand slicing through spine. Barker and Helen leap to their feet raising their rifles.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Wait!” I order, trying to keep my trembling heart out of my voice.

  For a long second no one moves, all parties silent as 1st LT’s body collapses to the floor.

  “That was terribly rude Mr Stable A. Beef- ahem- Bioweapon. I assume that is the prescribed treatment for all wig outs?”

  “Recursive retraining, applied directly.” Says the Heavy Bioweapon.

  I nod. Thankful for Hygieia’s unspeakable project and the gift of confidence.

  “Are you assuming command of these martyrs?” I ask.

  He shrugs, “I was always in command.”

  “Of course!” I whisper, quickly realizing this weapon is more than he appears. “Well then Commander, I’d like to treat you with respect befitting an officer, but it's difficult to grant courtesy without a name.”

  He pantomimes taking a seat, an odd gesture. Odder still when he sits in image only. Butt resting at the top of an unsquished pillow, legs tensed and way over his toes keeping weight off the cushions.

  “You may call me Richard.”

  “A pleasure to meet you Richard, my name is Sable Yurten, Private of the Holy Singularity.”

  Helmet moves askew, cocking one head. “Not even a Specialist? How quaint, and here I was thinking we were treating each other with dignity. Why lie to me? Everyone on Syrak has been flash trained, and would have obeyed our earlier orders completely. Yet not a single soldier within this bunker of yours follows my orders before yours. So what will it be?”

  I swallow. Our pleasant conversation is over. Which makes sense considering the corpse leaking blood across my boots. A sigh escapes. I’m trapped for the second time today. Suitcase nukes are looking better by the second.

  “Well Richard, I see you’re not a fool. My name is Athena Finley, the forsaken child of flashtraining. I fought my way across Syrak and I intend on conquering the planet in the Singularity’s name.”

  Richard laughs. “Why? If the flashtraining failed why fight in the Singularity’s name?”

  His quad barreled cannon clinks, as if loading a round. I raise an eyebrow.

  “Shoot me before I can answer the question? You’re a terrible inquisitor.”

  “Gotta keep up appearances ya know, do things nobody expects from the inquisition. Shooting the innocent usually keeps people guessing.” He says.

  Aids lean away from the bioweapon, missing the obvious joke. Only widening my smile.

  “The Singularity adopted me, figured I would stick with family.” I lie, interposing half truths of step siblings with calculated betrayal.

  Richard straightens, as if I’ve made a deeply offensive joke.

  “Where did your army come from?”

  “A woman can’t just share all her secrets now.” I wink at Richard, wondering where the hell his eyes are and hoping it’s not in the two foot long codpiece. “Just cause I’ll win in the singularity’s name does not mean I have any intention of demoting my Commander ass back down to Private. Make me a real offer and my fifty Juggernauts will join the fight on your side.” I say, smiling at his helmet.

  Before he speaks the 2nd LT opens his mouth and interrupts our revving banter. “Fifty? You’re still repairing the EMP damage! You don’t have the manpower to build Juggernauts!”

  Richard rests one bloody hand on 2nd LT’s shoulder, forever staining the greatcoat with experience.

  “Recursive retraining has been applied.”

  Aids and officers repeat his words like some kind of mindless cult of brainless zombies. That settles it, flash training is worse than symbiotes, I'll never again hesitate to infest my fellow Earthlings, for they are already gone, and infestation is only the first step to resurrecting their spirits.

  Hygieia, who's been eavesdropping on the entire conversation through my eyes, chimes in. Thoughts mirroring my own.

  >Matriarch Hygieia: Yeah…

  >Matriarch Hygieia: this is the creepiest bullshit

  >Matriarch Hygieia: glad youve come around to my side of things Thena

  >Terran Thena: I didn’t realize it was this bad. Find a way to undo the flashtraining Hygieia. Please.

  >Matriarch Hygieia: yeah yeah

  >Matriarch Hygieia: Hygieia-one-kenobi, you are my only hope

  >Matriarch Hygieia: same as yesterday

  >Terran Thena: You know I appreciate what you do.

  >Matriarch Hygieia: sure aint showing it

  I know the real reason she is being snippy, and leave it alone. We agreed to never discuss it, so we won’t.

  “Richard, let’s go for a tour.” I say, pressing both palms against the table and rising. “Just you and me.”

  “Don’t forget your driver.” Richard advises, already out the door.

  In moments Helen has us zipping through the tunnels, touring the facility in silence. Miles of bunker are covered, including the vaults, defensive atrium, and finally the foundry, never stopping, always skimming.

  “Fifty Juggernauts, as promised.” I say, wondering if he can scan their internals.

  This is a foolish risk, but I’ve led him through every sensor array and past every augmented Juggernaut twice over, hopefully their scans can tell us something about Kerrigan’s condition and how to stabilize her, either chemically or genetically. At this point I’ll accept either just to keep her alive.

  “They are incomplete, but I trust in your ability to mobilize them, Miss Irregular. Just as I recognize that your words are hourable.” Richard extends his hand to shake, dried blood flaking off armored knuckles. Worse, there seems to be a fragment of skull with hair still attached, waving in the faint breeze of anti-grav.

  “Uhm… want a hanky for that?” I say, offering him mine.

  All dress uniforms come with them, frilly and pretentious. Like really ugly lace.

  “Oh, right. My apologies.” Richard says, cleaning his murder weapon as if the act was not committed by him, but an alter ego.

  Awkward silence takes us for a moment. Broken when he places a hand on my shoulder.

  “How is it that you stare down the barrel of a gun, and can look me in the eyes without terror weakening your heart. Are you a fool who does not comprehend death?”

  It’s all I can do not to laugh, I’m scared shitless, which is why we took precautions, like piloting a clone of myself. The mindless simulacra Hygieia cooked up in an attempt to regain her humanity.

  But that secret will never be spoken aloud.

  “Oh, I can assure you, I find nothing more terrifying than a bioweapon in close proximity. But, that isn’t a reason to cower and hide. If you decide to kill me, I’ll die. No amount of shielding, tanks, infantry, or weaponry kept the Tulverians alive when Trinity came for them. But… That soldier who hides in your shadow, why does she look to you for strength? Why would a soldier of any stripe seek you for protection unless there was some artifact of nobility within you?”

  Richard is quiet, head moving to scan the empty cryotubes before he calls for a halt. Helen glances at me, and I nod, piqued by the weapon’s sudden request.

  “She is like you. Irregular. One who remembers the time before-” Richard’s words halt abruptly, as if cut off by some censor.

  In that one second the bioweapon’s whole demeanor changes. A transformation so stark I would have believed in werewolves. Arms tense, shoulders ripple, and the grav sled seems to dip, as if a tremendous weight was placed beside me.

  Helen jerks, spine going ramrod straight, hand seeking the pulser currently mag locked to her reactor.

  Then, suddenly as it came, it’s gone. Richard holds up a hand and snaps his fingers. The snap echoing with the weight of a submarine’s implosion.

  “Ahem. So unpleasant.” He says, back in his regular voice. “My standing orders require summary execution for all of your kind, but I gain no satisfaction from violence. I am a shield, meant to protect lives, not a blade meant to vivisect mind and body.” Richard whispers, more to himself than me.

  I memorize every word, mentally storing the conversation for Alaea and Hygieia to replay in hopes of understanding this ‘stable’ bioweapon. Kerrigan deserves so much more.

  “Ahem, my apologies. I’ve noticed there is a distinct lack of AI cores within the bunker. How do you intend to report a conquered Technomancy without their compliance?” Richard asks.

  “Report? We physically hold the bunker, the AI can’t defend itself unless we support it. What else matters?”

  The bioweapon pinches his temples, finally returning my handkerchief.

  “Each month the solarium allotment must be reported, the Novan’s are a democracy of Artificial Intelligences, none of their soldiers count, only vehicles and AI cores, the hardware that operates as a brain. So long as the core is not under your control, the Singularity cannot claim this bunker. Making you a target for conquest.”

  It’s my turn to shut up. Processing his words.

  “So… Until those vaults are cracked-”

  “-I am your enemy.” Finishes Richard, coating himself in the yellow gold of solarium armor.