Yvian stared at the sea of metal men. They all wore the same sharp suit, tie, and fedora as the Peacekeeper she'd just met. The clothes were heavier than they looked, refusing to stir in the light breeze that whispered through the crystal city. The Peacekeeper units stood perfectly straight and perfectly motionless, in perfectly regimented lines. It was unnerving as Crunch. The yellow lights shining from the eyes of the machines didn't help. Yvian was pretty sure that yellow was the color they used for happiness, or maybe laughter, but knowing that didn't change the sinister overtones of thousands of glowing eyes attached to metal men that even Mims was afraid of.

Mims had stopped to stare at the Peacekeepers as well, but he quickly regained his composure. "So..." He scratched the back of his helmet. "Just how many of you are there?"

The Peacekeeper who'd been leading had stopped when everyone else did. His eyes flashed a brighter yellow than before as he replied, "There are thirty one million, nine hundred forty two thousand, three hundred nineteen Peacekeeper units on this planet."

Mims grunted.

Yvian decided she was tired of calling the Peacekeeper the Peacekeeper. It felt rude, and was sure to be confusing with so many others just like him standing around. "So what's your name?"

"This unit's designation is Peacekeeper Unit 978564973."

"That's uh..." Yvian heard the numbers, but she'd already lost track of what they were. "That's a mouthful. Is there something...shorter we could call you?"

"Affirmative," said the Peacekeeper. "Unit 978564973."

"That won't do," Lissa decided. "We need something else to call you."

The Peacekeeper tilted his head, considering. Yvian knew it was an affectation. He'd probably made his decision in less than a second. "Affirmative. Organic intelligences are limited and may experience difficulty remembering unit numbers accurately. This unit will accept an alternate designation for interacting with meatbags. Please suggest alternate designations."

"Can't you pick for yourself?" asked Yvian. She decided to ignore the jab about being limited.

"Negative," said Unit 978564973. "Alternate designations will be necessary for all units when interacting with meatbags. All Peacekeeper units are identical. All Peacekeeper units would choose the same designation."

"So you want us meatbags to pick for the sake of variety." Yvian got it. "Ok. How about Peacey?"

"Alternate designation rejected," said Peacey.

"Keepey?"

"Alternate designation rejected." Keepey didn't like that one, either. A brief red glow. "This unit believes it has been insulted."

"Give it up, sis," Lissa told her. "You suck at picking names." She addressed the machine. "Maybe you should just pick, since you're the first one getting a nickname."

"Affirmative," the machine who refused to be Keepey agreed. "This unit's alternate designation will be Mr. Roboto." His eyes flashed an amused yellow.

"Alternate designation rejected," said Mims. "I'm not calling you that."

"It is a musical reference," Mr. Roboto informed the Captain. "With poetic undertones relating to this unit."

"I know," said Mims. "It's also ridiculous. Pick something else."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Exodus the Genocide was correct," Unit 978564973 remarked. "Your sense of humor is lacking." Another yellow flash, then he said. "New alternate designation selected. This unit will be known as Kilroy."

"Kilroy?" Yvian rolled the name around in her mind. "That... sounds pretty cool, actually."

Mims sighed.

"Kilroy it is," Lissa agreed. "So, Kilroy, you seem to be really into music."

"Affirmative," Kilroy agreed. "Music is emotion and story as expressed through mathematics. Most synthetic intelligences find it satisfying."

"Neat."

"What's the plan, Kilroy?" Mims interrupted. "You were taking us somewhere?"

"Affirmative," said the Peacekeeper. "There is an open space in zero point four kilometers that is suitable for landing the Random Encounter. We will load the ship with Peacekeeper units for transport to a shipyard where they can be deployed to the other ships."

"Makes sense, I guess." The human started typing into his wrist console. "There's plenty of work to go around."

"Affirmative," said Kilroy. He started walking. "All Peacekeeper units will be fully employed as soon as wages have been negotiated."

"Wages?" Yvian had started to follow, but that thought brought her up short. "Uh, sis?"

"What?" Lissa turned.

"I don't think we can afford to hire thirty million people."

Lissa met her gaze. They both turned to look at Mims. Kilroy was facing the human as well. Mims regarded them all for a moment, then let out another sigh. "God damn it..."

The walk to the clearing was short. The clearing (was that the word?) was an oval, roughly five hundred meters in length. A perfectly smooth, perfectly flat expanse of the same crystal the rest of the city was made of. Yvian suspected it had once been a landing space for ships. Technically, it still was.

The Encounter roared overhead a minute later. The sleek triangle of a ship came to a sudden stop above the center of the landing area, then gently lowered to the ground.

"Wages will now be negotiated," Kilroy intoned.

The Captain was ready. "Two thousand a month, paid in two installments per month, for each unit."

"Insufficient," Kilroy haggled. "Peacekeeper units are vastly more qualified than meatbags in all areas, do not sleep or take breaks, and outperform organics in every category. Our work is worth far more than standard Confederation wages. Additionally, some units will be performing jobs of varying value and difficulty, rendering a flat rate unfair."

"Peacekeeper units are identical," Mims pointed out, "which means you're all equally qualified and a flat rate is as fair as can be." Yvian wasn't sure the Captain should be the one negotiating. He wasn't pixen, and he'd said before he wouldn't be much help forming a government. On the other hand, it was his money, and he had far more negotiating experience than Yvian and Lissa. She held her peace. Mims continued, "Five thousand a month."

Kilroy answered immediately. "One hundred thousand."

Mims shook his head. "That's too much. It's not sustainable."

"This unit is aware that you own Venturetech," Kilroy told him. "Venturetech is the third largest corporation in the Confederation, and your status as a human has prevented you from making major purchases until this last year. Even a modest investment strategy would allow you to pay one hundred thousand a month to all units indefinitely."

"Yeah, I could." Mims watched the Random Encounter lower its ramp. "But I won't be bankrolling things forever. Once Pixa's got its own currency, the government will be responsible for paying your labor. It's better to set a reasonable price now than have to take a paycut later."

"Incorrect," Kilroy countered. "Higher fees resulting in a later pay cut would still accumulate more resources than having lower wages to begin with."

"Maybe," said the human, "but people don't really think that way. Losing a thing is way worse than never having it in the first place. If we have to cut your pay by too much, we'll see a huge loss of morale. Maybe even a revolution."

Colors flashed through the Peacekeeper's eyes, too fast for Yvian to track. "You are basing your assumptions on the psychology of organics. Treating us as though we were meatbags." The colors slowed down enough that Yvian could make out pulses of red, green, purple, blue, and yellow. "Unexpected."

Mims shrugged. "All I can do, really. I don't know a damned thing about how synthetics think."

"Understood." Kilroy shut off his eye lights. "Appreciated. This unit believes you have a specific figure in mind."

Mims nodded. The Encounter's ramp was down, but nobody moved towards it. The Peacekeeper units that had followed them stayed where they were, in five single file lines starting ten meters behind them. "The Federation provides a stipend to all its citizens roughly equal to ten thousand a month. I figured we'd use their economic model, so you'll all get ten grand automatically. I figured we'd pay another ten grand for labor. You'll be doing different things, but it's all part of the same job. Building the Nation of Pixa."

Kilroy tilted his head again. His eyes turned a happy yellow, and he offered the human his hand. Mims shook it. "Proposal accepted."