PARALLAX

The interior of Artifice's ship is a far cry from Parallax's dim, cozy cabin. It's a series of conjoined open spaces, perfectly square and symmetrical in their construction, logical. And white. Bright white walls made even more stark by the brilliant rectangular ceiling lights. Black, indented, vertical lines stripe the walls at perfectly-spaced intervals, emphasizing the symmetry.

No space to sit or lie down, that Parallax can see, except for the pilot seat in the cockpit.

"Where do you sleep?"

Artifice's fingers dance flittingly across the large monitor screen set into the wall, making precise inputs and adjustments. "Floor."

The floor is the same color as the wall, but with a glossy finish to it. When Parallax leans down to look at it, she can see her own reflection in the shine. She taps one foot, and the echo pings across the hard, smooth floor, then back and forth from wall to wall, like the crack of a gunshot in an enclosed space. The only other sounds are the hum of the ship's engine and the occasional notification beep from the computer system Artifice is fiddling with. Other than that, it's strangely cool, and eerily quiet, like standing in a pristine museum exhibit; from what Parallax can remember of them, anyway.

In this instance, the object of interest is Artifice herself. Like a caveman in a wax sculpture exhibit. 'To your left, you can see the prissy, bitchy Artifice Model at work, obsessing over every single detail and dataset, even the ones that don't matter. Don't fault her for it; it's her programming!'

In truth, Parallax has little idea what the Artifice Model is up to. She could interpret the data herself, if she wanted to. But she doesn't want to. She already knows what the results will be.

They'd pulled out, leaving Razor and Silas behind, because it was the lesser of two evils. The possibility of losing the Key, however slim, weighed against the certainty of it.

He's dead. They're both dead. When that HERALD touched down, it spelled doom for everyone.

And, perhaps the worst of it: I'll never see Razor again.

Something chirps, some notification sound from the monitor screen. Artifice cocks her head musingly, staring.

"...what?" Suddenly, Parallax's interest is piqued. Something has surprised Artifice. Something's gone against the grain.

"Well," Artifice says, "It looks like they survived. I'd rather hoped they would, obviously, but it's still a bit of a surprise."

Relief. Flooding Parallax's system like a rush of freezing-cold water. She has to stop herself from letting out a dramatic, pent-up breath.

That crazy idiot. What the hell.

"What happened?"

"Well," Artifice says; her second 'well' in the past ten seconds, which might be some indication of her bewilderment. "Going off of the seismic and aerial footage, it looks like a couple of things happened. Some defensive installations turned on, came up out of the sand, and held off the MALAK's for a number of seconds. Then some kind of access hatch tunnel opened up, and it looks like Silas and Razor were able to get inside. Now, what happened after that, we can't know. But it does appear as if the Key is still intact.

"This does present its own set of issues, however. I have to assume these defensive measures were activated from inside the complex. If they were automatic, Razor would have dealt with them during his initial raid of the facility. According to the mission data, this is not the case. Which means there's someone on the inside, acting on Silas' behalf. Someone we weren't dealing with before. Someone who's just now entering the picture."

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The perfect catalyst for Artifice to go nuts with her conspiracy theories and speculation, again.

Wonderful.

"At this juncture, am I to take it you still don't want the Corsairs involved?"

What can Parallax possibly say, at this point? What possible justification can she give, besides her personal uneasiness, and a paranoid feeling of inevitable betrayal she can't seem to shake?

It's even a bit silly, isn't it? Artifice hasn't betrayed her; not yet. But Razor has.

So many signs, so much foreshadowing, and she never even saw it coming.

Or maybe she just didn't want to.

"No," Parallax says. "It'll take some time, but time isn't the factor it used to be."

"Indeed. I've already contacted them, as well as the Armada. They're inbound as we speak."

"What about the HERALD?"

"The HERALD appears to still be in some kind of stasis."

"All that sound and fury, but it still hasn't made a move."

"I have yet to identify why it touched down in the first place, let alone what its objectives are moving forward. I would think it mere coincidence, but it seems like a pretty big coincidence to me.

"My thoughts as well."

"It's just one more variable to contend with--an unknown variable."

"Among other unknowns."

Artifice's attention shifts suddenly, settling on Parallax. "What about Razor?"

"What about him?"

"Is he a known, or an unknown?" Artifice's dark eyes seem to be boring into Parallax, mining for data. "You seemed to be giving him the bulk of your resources and attention."

"Is that what it looked like?"

"It looked to me like we could have apprehended Silas easily in the beginning, but you abandoned the Blast Model so you could keep flying East, toward Razor."

"Oh, you're gonna blame me because your plan didn't work? My ship got shot down as soon as we arrived."

"While you were en route to Razor's location."

"And why are you so confident about that?"

"The data is objective. At this point, I'm more interested in the fact that you don't seem interested in explaining yourself."

"Why should I be?"

"Because if I think you're jeopardizing this mission, Parallax, I will kill you."

The threat hangs in the air like a flag in a lazy wind. Artifice's computer continues to make little beeping sounds; the ship's engine thrums, making the sterile cabin vibrate subtly.

"Are you done? Are you finished taking out all your frustration on me?"

"Not just yet, Parallax. There, at the end, you had the chance to take Razor by surprise. You could have taken him out, and we would already be halfway to Ironhold with the Key in possession. Why didn't you?"

"I guess I'm just not as heartless as you."

Artifice's mouth bulges in a couple of places as her tongue runs over her teeth. She's taking the information in, assimilating it.

"You care about this Razor?" she says.

"He's an old friend." The lie is dangerous, but not as dangerous as the truth.

Artifice nods. "As children of Ironhold, we all share some sort of kinship with one another, with varying degrees of fondness, loyalty, and intimacy. It's only natural. It's the way we were designed. But the mission always comes first. The mission is why we were created in the first place."

She moves toward Parallax, the tails of her coat dragging on the glossy alabaster floor. Fringes of her parted hair hang loose in front of her face, like the bars of a cage.

"I'm going to give you one more chance. Don't. Fuck up. The mission. Do you hear me?"

The worst part is, Parallax knew this was going to happen--or something similar. She knew, and she went anyway.

Why?

Because she's an idiot. That's why. Because even though she'd let Razor loose a long time ago, some part of her never let go. And now, if she's not careful, that part of her is going to get her killed.

"I am going to need an answer. And I need it in the next five seconds."

If there is anyone whose ultimatum you should take seriously, it's Artifice.

Sure, Parallax could fight back. But she doubts it would be so easy. It's hard to imagine Artifice doesn't have a number of traps and tricks up her sleeve, especially in her own ship. Not to mention all of the droids stockpiled away in the hangar, ready to activate at a moment's notice. Besides, she and Artifice, they need each other.

"Fine, if you want to hear me say it. I won't mess it up. Clear communication from here on out."

"And you'll do everything I say?"

"I'll do anything you ask if I agree it's the right call. If I don't, I'll clearly state so, and why."

Artifice studies Parallaxes slowly; she nods. "All right. I can work with that. Let me ask you this, though--and you don't need to answer now, but I will need an answer eventually.

"I made a promise to Razor that the next time I saw him, I would kill him. When that time comes, what are you going to do about it?"

Artifice doesn't wait for an answer. She turns back to the monitor screen, back to her data assimilation. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't expect a response yet. And Parallax is glad for it. Because at this point, she doesn't know herself.