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Vigilant . Bren got up from his chair and made his way down a short corridor toward the ASSAIL post-mission bays.
    The handlers were already there. The four with surviving machines were preparing the machine docks to accept the ASSAIL units. Each bay extended the length of an ASSAIL unit with an opening at both ends for walking in and out.
    Bren felt pity for the other six handlers. Two of them hadn’t even bothered to show up. The four who had, stood by with glum looks. None of them had expected their machine would be a leaking pile of scrap by the end of the mission. It might be weeks before they got replacements. If they got replacements. The data would be audited carefully, and if any of the handlers had neglected their duties in a way that had contributed to the loss of a machine, those handlers might be replaced as well.
    They didn’t do anything wrong. We had no idea there would be such a devastating foe here.
    The familiar sound of powerful hydraulics and electric motors grew from the outer corridor. The four ASSAIL machines came back into the maintenance room and slid into each bay. Four umbilical connections snaked from the sides of each bay and connected to the machines.
    Bren saw Maladomini bore a battle scar. A front panel of metal armor had been rent open revealing a narrow hollow in the center that leaked green fluid. The fluid was key to the functionality of the armor plate since it held millions of long carbon nanotubes in suspension to block incoming projectiles. Struck by the scene, Bren shook his head. It looked as if a wounded metal lion had slinked back to the Guts to bleed out.
    Bren monitored his post-mission protocols and tried not to look at the robots. He always experienced nervousness at this point. He felt like somehow they knew . He checked the mission chronometer. The AI cores had been on for more than thirty-four minutes. Each core harbored intelligence many times more powerful than the sharpest humans did, but with a restricted set of knowledge.
    Meridian followed Bren’s movements from its bay. Each eye was an armored black hemisphere the size of an old-world quarter. Meridian had eight forward-facing eyes, arrayed symmetrically across its head and shoulders, like a giant metal spider head with creepy, cold shark eyes.
    “You are Major Marcken. I have a question,” said Meridian.
    Bren accessed the power lineup that fed the ASSAIL units the juice they needed to maintain mental coherency. He started the power down procedure.
    “Yes, Meridian?” Bren replied nervously. He wondered what the question would be this time.
    “Have you delivered the message to Sparta?”
    “I’ll send them the message, Meridian,” Bren said and turned off the power.
    Meridian remained conscious for a long second before going dark. Bren always wondered what it thought in that last moment while its capacitors discharged, knowing its existence was about to wink out.
    “I would be interested in reading the message,” was the last transmission from the AI core.
    Bren felt troubled. Fear and guilt battled in the mix of feelings produced by his role in what was the execution of an intelligent entity, albeit one only minutes old.
    I would be interested in reading the message.
    His mood didn’t stop him from running the cleanup protocols and resetting every electronic component back to the startup specs. Not a single bit of old state from the machines would remain outside of the logs when the machine started again. And the logs would be transferred off the ASSAIL storage units to Bren’s data storage modules.
    The next time the machines were deployed, their cores would start from scratch again. Meridian wouldn’t remember a thing.
     

Two
     
    Chris Adrastus settled into the acceleration lounge. He closed his eyes and relished the perfection of it. The muted vibration of the vehicle, the comforting white noise of its drive, and the smell of pristine leather combined harmoniously. Even now, hours after leaving