Klaxons blared. Panicked voices cried out. Footsteps tapped along at sprint pace. The old airfield was buzzing with desperate activity as its inhabitants rushed to enact their evacuation procedure. In the middle of it all, a lone Reploid sat in the control tower.
Petal marveled at the radar screen.
“Damn. Guess the little bastard wasn’t lying after all.”
The airfield’s sophisticated, custom-made radar array had been a gift from the leader of Tin Can, a fellow resistance settlement. Petal had privately felt paranoia that their leader had been overselling its capabilities, but here was his proof- the screen was showing the detection and identification of several stealth aircraft. Indeed, the perimeter patrol had achieved visual confirmation, and this had lead to the evac order.
The enemy was from the Cutting Shadow. It was obvious, both because the system had analyzed as much, and because no other Neo Arcadians used stealth tech. That was Neo Arcadia’s secret police division- a ruthless outfit that used equal parts espionage tech and social engineering to achieve high-level political assassinations. They also had a small paramilitary force for wiping inconvenient “Maverick” groups off the map- groups like Petal’s.
He looked out at the chaos below. His people were frantically loading into three cargo planes. One of the planes closed its rear door and immediately started to taxi.
Fluttering above it all was his group’s flag. A detailed red phoenix diving downwards, viewed from its back, its talons facing up and its beak down. Its wings almost made a sort of triangle. Stenciled over the phoenix were the characters, “R-03”. The Third Resistance. Technically, going by the lineage, it was “The Third Reploid People’s Resistance to Neo Arcadia and General Fascism”, but the few people who had survived the purging of R-02 didn’t call it that anymore- and nobody had survived R-01. For many, the number had ceased to matter. It was just “The Resistance”.
It seemed today Neo Arcadia meant to purge R-03, but Petal wasn’t going to allow it. He was sending his beloved comrades off to the already-existing R-04. Petal keyed into the intercom network.
“This is Tower. Owl 1 through 3, you are all cleared for takeoff. Don’t waste any time, they’re gonna be here shortly.”
The channel crackled as a feminine voice replied.
“Petal, what the hell are you still doing in the tower?! Come on, get down here!”
It was Serin. Pilot of Owl 3. Petal’s best friend. Hearing her voice was painful.
“Serin, there’s no time! Get movin’! I can’t get down to you in time, and someone has to operate the air defenses! It’s the only way to keep them off your asses!”
The feminine Reploid’s voice cracked with desperation.
“That’s a death sentence, dammit!”
Petal grimaced. He knew this was coming. He did his best to play it off.
“Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll just lay low until I’m sure the coast is clear. Then I’ll follow you in the four-seater. It’s already gassed up.”
It wasn’t gassed up. Petal didn’t even know if it was airworthy.
“Damn you, Petal! You better make it, or I’ll- I’ll-”
She broke off, distraught. Petal took the initiative.
“Just GO, Serin! We don’t have time for this!”
“…Acknowledged. Owl 3 out.”
The three aircraft taxied to their respective runways. Simultaneously, they each fired their takeoff booster rockets. The trio were immediately speeding down the airstrips, their engines roaring. In mere moments, they were away, rising into the sky like angels. Petal saluted before focusing on the computer. On a second monitor, he opened up the air defense control program. All the batteries read green, sitting ready atop the buildings. The Reploid punched in a few commands. Each battery started to individually track one of the contacts on the radar. There were more than 3 times the targets than there were guns, but Petal accounted for that, with each battery instructed on its follow-up targets.
It wasn’t time to fire yet. The targets were too far and low. Petal knew he would have to wait until they were basically overhead.
The moments passed. He felt a sense of tension. With each second that ticked by, the radar screen updated, showing the enemy was closer, closer, yet closer. He could now see them from the tower. Even at this distance, his sharp eyes could make them out. Exactly as the radar said, it was a group of beetle-like transport copters, escorted by fighters in the shape of boxy ladybugs. All were painted in the distinctive dark-grey of a radar-absorbent ablative coating. Of course, not absorbent enough anymore. Petal grinned.
The radar indicated that the fighters were accelerating and changing heading, trying to match the escaping cargo planes. Petal had already accounted for this. The fighters were prioritized by the targeting scheme. He keyed in another command. The computer started averaging the position of every craft together, using the numbers to draw a dot in the rough center of all the craft. He tracked the dot’s distance to the airfield.
Two kilometers.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick…
A moment later- one and a half kilometers.
One kilometer.
Half.
Quarter. The roaring of engines was audible. The fighters would be overhead any moment.
Tenth.
Click.
The instant Petal’s thumb actuated the fire button, his vision was overwhelmed. Beams of white-hot light blasted up into the sky. The frontmost fighters disintegrated, their burning hulks dropping like bricks.
Click.
More divine beams of holy light, more dying ladybugs.
Click. The entire fighter escort was dead. Several of the transport beetles followed them down. The remaining beetles dove for the surface.
Click. A few more beetles exploded.
And that was all Petal could do. The rest were below range, putting down in the vast meadow that stretched beyond the perimeter of the airfield. With a final command input, he set the laser system to automatically fire on anything that came back into the kill box- a final gift for any insufficiently cautious Neo Arcadian pilots, for when they left.
The Reploid slumped in his chair. He put his legs up on the desk and cradled the back of his head in his hands. He sighed. They were safe. The transport craft couldn’t match the full speed of the planes, and they didn’t have the weapons to take them down. Now it was time for his reward.
The truth was, Petal was a dangerously depressed Reploid. He’d always lived a maximally miserable life. He’d been built with an emotional imbalance in his mental circuitry that made joy difficult to experience for more than the immediate moment. He’d hated his job in Neo Arcadia. He’d hated waking up after sleep cycles. Consciousness, cognition, it was a curse to Petal.
When Reploids escaped Neo Arcadia, it was common to name oneself, or to be named by friends. A spiritual act of defiance, because Neo Arcadia only granted serial numbers. Petal had said his name was because he loved to look at synthetic flowers in the garden he used to work near, and he wanted to embody them. He had worked near a garden, but it wasn’t the real reason. In truth, he wasn’t a flower, but a piece of one ripped from the whole. That’s how he felt. That’s what being a petal- being Petal- was.
He'd figured out a while ago that he didn’t want to be alive. But he persisted, because his friends would miss him. It was inexplicable that he had friends. In private moments, he would look in the mirror and tell himself, “They only tolerate you because of the circumstance that we’re all fucked and trying not to die.” He persisted because he owed it to them to keep them safe as long as he could. Well, he’d done it. He’d protected them from a direct assault by the Cutting Shadow. Wasn’t that enough? Couldn’t he take his reward now?
You’ll never be enough, anyway.
A grimace crossed his features. God, he loathed himself. He loathed his inadequacy. His failures. The fact that he couldn’t even enjoy saving them. He thought of Serin’s face. What would she think?
It was too late, anyway. There wasn’t exactly an escape waiting for him, and the survivors of his light show were doubtlessly on foot to the airfield. Maybe he could hide, and fix up the plane later, and-
Don’t be a coward. You want this.
“I want this.”
“It’s just nerves.”
“We’re built with a drive to self-preserve. It can be overcome, just like every other Asimov.”
God, his voice sounded shaky and hollow. He needed to distract himself for a moment.
Petal opened up the e-mail client on the computer. His fingers trembled as he typed.
A lump formed in his throat. It was vague, but the old robot was perceptive. He would probably pick up on the funereal nature of it.
Old robot. It felt weird to call him old- he was eternally youthful, his voice and manner and optimism making him come off like a 20-year-old human that hadn’t yet been beaten down by life. Of course, that was just how he appeared. The weird little guy was much older than anyone in R-03. Apparently, he’d been in some deep shit decades ago, several times over.
You’re stalling. Send it.
The mouse cursor hovered over the client’s “send” button. He tried to click it. His finger didn’t move.
Fucking send it.
He strained. The anxiety was killing him.
Not killing me fast enough.
“Gah, it’s just an e-mail! Why am I being such a pussy?!”
He tried to click, trying to be bolstered and spontaneous with his utterance. Nothing.
He heard a noise in the distance. Startled, his finger clicked the button. He watched helplessly as the upload process occurred. In just a second, the computer uplinked to a comms satellite and was on its way to the Tin Can comms network.
“Shit.”
No going back now.
Petal pulled his pistol from its holster. His hands were shaking as he lifted it. Reclining again in the chair, he considered its shiny frame. He flicked the safety on and off in a slow rhythm, enjoying the beeps it made.
After only a minute or two, a shadow in the room seemed to unnaturally elongate. It coalesced into the form of a man. The end was here.
“Cut the theatrics.”
Before him stood a combat Reploid clad in thin white and grey armor, trimmed with accents of brass. At his side was a sheathed high-frequency katana. His scarf was singed, and he was marked with a few scorch marks. Dull grey eyes peered out from the eyeholes of his helmet, simultaneously lifeless and indicating a seething anger that matched his scowl.
“Hidden Phantom. Wow. I didn’t think they’d actually send the big man himself to deal with our little ol’ operation. I’m flattered. Looks like you enjoyed the light show a little too up-close and personal, if the carbon scoring’s anything to go by. Hope the crash hurt, you sick son of a bitch.”
Phantom’s scowl deepened.
“That was unprecedented. Your kind should not have been able to predict my approach. Waste Management Unit, you will come with me, and you will explain your tricks.”
There was no “or else”, nor was there a promise of mercy. It was simply a command with implied gravity. It washed uselessly over Petal. He was beyond any fear- at least, from external sources. Neo Arcadia couldn’t make him hurt a single ounce more. He was at his capacity for torment.
The defiant Reploid reached out to slam a button on the keyboard. Distant thumps were audible as explosive charges attached to the radar antennae blew up the array. The secrets of their design were safely destroyed.
Phantom’s eyes bugged out. “What did you just do?! Waste Management Unit, explain yourself!”
“My name is Petal. Go to hell.”
The rebel raised the pistol towards Phantom. He lined up the notches of the sights. He was about to squeeze the trigger.
Several kunai flew forth, faster than the robot’s trigger finger.
Petal’s limp form collapsed out of the chair, landing on his back. He didn’t move. Cautiously, Phantom approached, wary of the buster on the floor. The Reploid was definitely dead.
The Guardian froze as he spied the dead robot’s face. It wore a peaceful expression. The eyes were closed, but not squeezed shut in pain or fear. The makeup was intact. There was a faint smile upon the mouth. If not for the various kunai embedded in the body, one could almost think Petal was simply sleeping, having a pleasant dream.
He was finally at peace.
A wave of rage flooded into Phantom. He wanted to smash the corpse, deface it as an example, leave it in ruins! He gripped compulsively at the hilt of his katana, staggering side to side, wracked with indecision.
But he stopped. He didn’t dare touch the body.
It was pointless. Phantom was supposed to be able to inflict fear on anyone.
And yet.
This insolent rebel had bested him even in death. There was nothing Phantom could do to make him afraid or make him hurt. The man was beyond Phantom’s reach in every way that mattered.
Petal had won.