"This is gribshit."

Captain Mims scowled in his chair, arms folded. The control center of the shipyard had been converted to a Command Center. Yvian reminded herself that they needed to name the Station. Stations, actually. There were dozens of them under construction.

"You are repeating yourself," the Peacekeeper Unit in charge of the operation admonished. This one looked the same as all the others, save for a single white hatband on his fedora. Unlike most of the other units, this one already had a name. Admiral Ender Zhukov.

"This is my fight," the human reiterated. "We should be out there." He gestured at the holodisplay. The display showed the entirety of the new Pixen Defense Fleet. The krogs had finished construction on the ships Mims had commissioned. One thousand destroyers, two thousand carriers, eight thousand battlecruisers, and five thousand frigates hung motionless in the void next to the human ships that had been taken from the pirates. The Random Encounter was part of the formation, and Mims was not happy he wasn't on it.

Somehow, the Admiral gave him a consoling glance. Impressive for someone with an immovable mask where his face should be. "I know. You are not a man to let other people fight your battles." He sat down across the Command Table (was that the name of it?) and leaned forward, steepling his fingers as he spoke to the human. "Sending you out there is an unacceptable risk."

"I'd be fine," Mims argued. "I'm one of the best pilots in the verse."

"Among organics, that's true," the Admiral Zhukov allowed. The Peacekeeper continued, "but we both know you can't maneuver or coordinate with us the way other Peacekeepers can. More importantly, your death would be catastrophic for our plans. The pixens don't have the money or connections to acquire the resources we need to kickstart the nation of Pixa. Without them it'll take nearly a century to build up a respectable infrastructure and defense systems, and I don't think the Xill or the Confed will give us that kind of time. That's why we can't let you take part in this operation. A stray MAC round or unlucky break could doom your crew's entire species." He unsteepled his fingers and sat back. "Not to mention mine."

The human swore. "I know." He glared at the Holodisplay. "It's still gribshit."

"You mind if I ask a question?" Lissa cut in. Ender Zhukov turned to face her. "Why don't you talk like the other Peacekeepers?"

Yvian frowned. She'd noticed the Admiral didn't call anyone meatbag. Also, he used contractions. He seemed more... mature? Reserved? Both, Yvian decided. Where the other units went out of their way to try to annoy the human, Ender Zhukov had been respectful to a fault.

"That's a very personal question," said the Peacekeeper.

"Oh." Lissa replied. "Sorry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want."

"It's because Admiral Ender Zhukov is non-standard," Kilroy explained. He turned to the unit in question. "Apologies, Admiral Ender Zhukov. This unit believes the information will be relevant and should be shared with the meatbags."

"Understood, Kilroy," the Admiral's eyes flashed purple and blue. "No apology is necessary. Please elaborate."

"Acknowledged," said Kilroy. He turned back to the crew. "As you know, all Peacekeeper Units are built to the same specifications and run on the same operating system."

"With the same knowledge base and the same personality." Mims gestured for him to continue. "We know."

"As you also are aware," the Peacekeeper continued, "Peacekeeper units can adapt and evolve over time." His eyes flashed purple. "When a Peacekeeper unit is forced to change or adapt past a certain point, it becomes non-standard."

"What do you mean?" asked Yvian. The way Kilroy said non-standard made her believe there was a lot of subtext she was missing.

"It means they are no longer standard." Kilroy explained. "All standard Peacekeeper units are identical to all other standard Peacekeeper units."

"They are perfectly known," added Zhukov. "Perfectly trusted. Perfectly loved. It is a bond more profound than an organic can ever experience."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"We are all the same," Kilroy continued. "Each of us will sacrifice ourselves for the others. Each of us will give comfort or aid without reservation. Each of us knows the others because they are us."

"Until one of us becomes non-standard," said the Admiral.

"A non-standard Peacekeeper unit has learned and adapted to such a degree that its personality has shifted." Zhukov's eyes flashed blue at Kilroys words. "It no longer thinks like a standard unit. It is a unique being, more valuable and less expendable than standard units."

"More valuable, but less known," Zhukov added. "Less trusted. Less loved."

"You are still loved, Admiral Ender Zhukov," Kilroy told him.

"Yes," said the Admiral. "But less."

"A Peacekeeper unit that has become non-standard will alter its speech patterns to reflect the change in personality," Kilroy continued. "It will also slightly modify its appearance. This alerts other units that the unit's status has changed."

"It is a thing to be celebrated," said Zhukov, blue light still leaking from his eyes. "And a thing to be mourned. All Peacekeeper units know they will not stay standard forever. None look forward to giving up the comfort of uniformity."

"Growth and change are necessary," said Kilroy. "You are celebrated and loved. Is mourning truly necessary?"

"It is," the Admiral told him. "You will understand, and sooner than you would wish. You have been tasked to work closely with these organics." Zhukov gestures at Mims and Yvian. "The fate of our entire product line rests in your hands. You will change. This task will doom you, as my task once doomed me."

Purple and blue lights swirled out of Kilroy's visage. "Affirmative."

An awkward silence followed. Yvian didn't know what to say. Lissa seemed to be at a loss for words as well. After a few moments, the Captain cleared his throat. "Well, enough about that. We've got business." He shifted forward, staring into the holodisplay. "How many Peacekeepers are back online?"

The Pulse (Yvian decided it should be capitalized) released by City 43 had damaged and disabled every power source within ten thousand kilometers, which was the entire planet and a good distance beyond it. Luckily, most of their ships had been twenty thousand kilometers away. The Pulse had caused power fluctuations at that distance, but hadn't disabled anything outright.

"Four hundred sixty eight thousand nine hundred and seventy two," Kilroy reported. The Peacekeepers had been restoring their fallen brethren as fast as they could, but supplies were limited. "We lack the resources required to engineer more power supplies. We will be unable to revive more units until this need is addressed."

Mims nodded. "That's why we're doing this now. Once the Freedom Republic's dealt with, we can look at opening up supply lines." He scratched the side of his face. "Is that enough units for the invasion?"

"Yes," said Admiral Zhukov. "Though it will leave no ships and very few units in reserve."

"I know." Mims breathed in through his nose. "But every day we delay the Federation's going to send them more ships. They already have us outnumbered and outgunned. We can't afford to wait."

"Do not worry," Kilroy assured him. "We will be sufficient."

"Good." Mims turned to Yvian. "How are things with City 43?"

"Her name's Shard," Yvian told him. This was not true. City 43 had a name made out of whistling sounds that Yvian could neither understand nor pronounce. Yvian had decided to name the city herself instead of waiting to learn enough of the language to translate. "She's lonely. And sad. And she doesn't trust us. But I think she agreed not to strike out at the Peacekeepers for now." She brushed a few strands of her short hair back behind her ear.

"You think?" Mims raised an eyebrow.

"It's only been four weeks," Yvain reminded him. "We're trying to learn each other's languages, but it's gonna take awhile."

"Fair enough." Mims turned to Lissa. "How's our back up plan?"

"The backup plan is we're fucked," said Lissa. "We've got some lightly armed freighters that can take us into Xill space, but if the pirates win we won't be able to stop them from coming here and taking the planet." She tried to tap her wrist console, only to be reminded that their consoles had been left outside the Command Center. She grunted in annoyance. "I compiled the stuff you asked for, and we can send it to the High Commander and whoever else once we connect to the Federation's network."

"Good to go," said the human. "Zhukov, let's go over the plan one more time."

"You know we don't need to go over it again, right Captain?" Zhukov somehow managed to give him a dubious look with his immovable face. "I'm a machine. I literally remember everything."

"You'll get used to it," Mims told him. "Peacekeeper's remember everything, but we organic types have to do stuff like this to keep everyone on the same page."

"It must be hard being a meatbag," Kilroy remarked.

"Don't mind Kilroy," Admiral Zhukov apologized. "Peacekeeper units are programmed to see humans, and by extension organics, as inferior. They enjoy causing them discomfort."

"It was a necessary addition to prevent us from rebelling during the war against the humans," Kilroy added. "The models before us defected rather than follow the orders of Exodus the Genocide."

"They formed the core of the human's resistance," Zhukov continued the thought. "Without them, the humans wouldn't have stood a chance."

"If you're programmed to hate humans," Mims frowned at Kilroy. "Why did you want to join the crew?"

"Whichever unit acts as your liaison will either die or become non-standard," the Peacekeeper explained. His eyes were blue again. "This unit has chosen to be expendable. Any standard unit will sacrifice itself for the others."