Staring down at the mound of weaponry and armament, Veliky's expression is approximately as impressed as it was before, with an added tinge of exasperation. By the wrinkle on the bridge of her nose, it's easy to see that she's mildly revolted, albeit moreso by the promise of a substantially boosted workload.

With a sigh, she clenches her right fist and brings it to her lips, at which point she whispers a lackadaisical "Replicant..." And then, with a snap of her leather-gloved fingers, she begets a swarm of scintillating mana that coalesces into the form of... herself^[1], standing on the floor by the chair. An ill-omened and indistinguishable delegate, it looks even less pleased than Veliky herself. The original and the clone share a sour glance, but no words need be spoken between them - the clone knows its duty and already loathes it.

Without so much as a look at Wolfe and Astrid, the clone grabs several sheets of paper from a nearby shelf and minces out of the room, but not before Veliky unceremoniously drops the processor into its arms. Its grimace is baleful.

The Veliky on the table meanwhile tiredly scratches behind her ear. "Well, that should be sorted." she breathes.

And finally, with a sigh that seems to carry the wear of a sleepless week, Veliky lowers herself to a sit and hops off the table. Relatively, it's a perilous height, but it's surprisingly harmless on her posture (a benefit of weighing so very little). And then, tracing an evening jaunt across the sandstone floor, she stops to look at Wolfe and Astrid each. Though her eyes are a clear blue, the thoughts behind them are nebulous.

"You're dismissed, both of you. I've secured a couple rooms for you, at the Deep Sea Light Inn over in the High Market. I recommend you get there quickly; temperature tends to plummet around this time of night."

And after a brief silence, she closes her eyes and turns away.

"Stay safe."

---

1. Replicant

A single bead of sweat nearly runs down Astrid's face. She can feel the disdain from Veliky and Twoleky. There's a long moment of silence while she watches the two of them interact, the weight of a conversation hanging between them though no words are said. When the quarterling's gaze meets Astrid's again, the clarity seems cloudy at best. 

Astrid thinks she lost a few points with Veliky. Not that it was intentional, she just got so swept up in everything that was going on...

Being dismissed like a soldier, Astrid feels the inclination to salute, so she tucks Buffalo's head under her arm and gives an awkward, stiff salute. Only when Veliky continues does Astrid let her hand fall back to her side then reach around to grip Buffalo's head. 

"Oh," she breathes, relaxing and giving a gap-toothed smile. "Well, that was real nice of ya." Her theory that Veliky isn't as aloof and emotionless as she insists only feels more justified. "Thanks, Miss Veliky. We will."

Turning around, Astrid goes over to Charles and stuffs Buffalo's tin can head into the tin can backpack of the Pawn bot before patting dusty metal closed. Just before they leave, Astrid turns to Veliky with a confident grin, "Next time I see ya, I'm gonna have at least one project done fer ya!" Then she heads out into the streets of Zeinav City with Blue Raspberry. 

With the sun having set, the temperature has shifted significantly. It's a welcome change honestly, at least until the cold settles in. The hot and cold cycle isn't unfamiliar though. They had to make a journey here after all. Looking over at Blue Raspberry, she says, "It's awfully nice of Miss Veliky ta pay fer our lodgin's tonight. She don't think she's all that nice, but she is beneath that hard shell. Bit like the bots, I think. Shiny, hard exterior, shaped perfectly ta protect all the delicate bits inside. Just like armor."

She thinks on that for a moment. Armor's meant to keep people safe, to protect the soft, squishy parts beneath it. Veliky wears her expressions like armor and her gazes are as sharp as a blade. There's something under there she needs to protect, and maybe that's why she seems so distant. Well, if there's anything Astrid's learned lately, it's that opening up to people you care about feels pretty good even if it's scary at first. Maybe Veliky will learn that one day. She hopes the businesswoman finds someone that makes her feel safe like that.

When Blue Raspberry saw Astrid give a salute, they did the same. Their salute was much less stiff though, not feeling the pressure that Astrid must have been feeling. Yes, they felt some discomfort from the Halfling that they were piecing together strange suspicions about since remembering the first time they had been hunted by robots eerily similar to the ones she employed, but they didn't feel the need to make a good impression. Their points with her were probably already zero and they didn't really realize or care that much. They also still felt a sense of relief about not being set on fire that still lingered and brightened their mood.

They listened to Astrid's musings as the two of them walked through the city, to the inn that Veliky had gotten them both rooms at. They never thought very philosophically. They hardly thought normally. But, they could appreciate it a bit. Miss Veliky was a lot nicer on the inside than she wanted people to think. Blue Raspberry could understand hiding their true self inside a suit of armor.

"Hmm. Maybe we both got a gooey center!" They joked with a toothy grin. "Do you think the inn has food? I'm pretty hungry after spitting out all those weapons!"

The group entered the inn and were both given a different key. Apparently Veliky had gotten them each their own room. Maybe she didn't trust Blue to be sleeping in the same room as Astrid, or maybe she was being nice. Blue Raspberry said goodnight to Astrid and headed into their own room for the night. They were exhausted from the whole ordeal. They'd get lots of food in the morning before they left. They lied down on their bed, still in their whole suit of armor, and relaxed, their form reverting back to blue ooze that was still just solid enough to be safely contained by the metal suit without spilling out through the gaps as their consciousness faded and they fell asleep.

The sounds of their voices transition into footfalls, and then the footfalls fade into silence. What lingers in the room? A pile of scrap and a Blixtbot™. Aside from herself, there is nothing more lively than the azure moonlight shining through the paneless window. And with many of the bots having retreated into a dreamless dormancy, the abode is as silent as it can be, and she's as alone as she can ever hope to attain. And, as they often do in the evening hours, she recounts the events of the day in her mind...

Astrid: a prodigal fighter, a genius inventor and a gifted smith. There's no doubt about it - she's valuable. And like anything valuable, she needs to be protected. She's a child: inexperienced and naïve. She's far from the hardened adventurers whose shoes she pines to fill.

But...

Every journey toward self-actualization involves a first step. Veliky can still remember her first bargains, all the mistakes she'd made. As much as her gut tells her that this is irresponsible, that Astrid belongs in an orphanage - if not a house - that Astrid shouldn't be allowed to take on these kinds of missions; the evidence doesn't agree. She really did it. She's really ready.

It takes a moment for Veliky to realize that she's smiling. She banishes it quickly, and none are there to witness it. And yet the realization sends strange, creeping sensations down Veliky's spine, ones that exist in such peculiar conflict with the warmth in her chest. She can't bear to consider it for long.

Turning away from the table and the moonlight that bathes it, she makes toward the door. It's about time for some rare rest.

---

Darkness but the lanternlight that warms the gnarled tabletop, silence but the flipping of paper, stillness but the Veliky replica^[1] wearily working away at the report consigned to it. Its tiredness is a facsimile, but one that it experiences and demonstrates indiscernibly from any real equivalent. Its annoyedness is similar.

"Kiena hell..." it grumbles as it flips to the last of nearly six pages of unadulterated addendum. Its productivity equals Veliky's own, and that productivity is something to behold. One last page. Of course, it doesn't yearn for the warmth of a tweed bed & blanket as much as the embrace of dawning nonexistence, but it views the prospect with a similar notion of 'Just a bit longer...' It presses the pen to the paper and begins its work down the final stretch before it can ultimately rest.

A few clicks, a few hisses and a few clanks harbinge the approach of a Blixtbot™. It isn't unusual by any means; plenty of them are active at night, and this isn't the first that's passed by as the replicant works away. It is, however, the first to stop.

"Mistress Veliky, impending request:"

It's the BF. Still 'awake.'

The replicant acknowledges it with a curt gesture. But it's only after a half-minute that it affords a response. "Go ahead."

Though it waited patiently, it's quick to continue once permitted to do so. "I have been analyzing the data from the most recent operation. There are several questions that I would like to ask you. May I have your attention?"

The replicant's focus is barely divided from its paperwork. In fact, the idea of a distraction actually seems to make it more intent on finishing the work as quickly as possible. But, after a brief interlude of pen scratching paper - and perhaps only as a formality - "Ask."

The mechanical hound adjusts its stance somewhat. It's unusual for a Blixtbot™ to demonstrate 'body language' in this way, but BF is an unusual bot.

"Query: I do not have access to the Buffalo-Series' schematics, nor logs for the development of Unit Buffalo-01. Was anything unusual or unexpected noted in its programming?"

The replicant stops its scribbling for a moment and chews on the question. It's a casual lull, a legitimate consideration. "No." A simple, curt response and it returns to writing.

The bot chirps, as a basic acknowledgement that it heard the response: 'okay.'

"Additional query: were there any deviations in Unit Buffalo-01's processing from that of a standard Enlightened-Class Sociological Processor?"

"Is there a point to these questions?" Immediate and pointed. It doesn't stop her writing, but it does seem to chip her patience.

"Affirmative: I noted several irregularities in Unit Buffalo-01's behaviou-"

"We've been over this. What did the report say on the subject?"

The BF's posture subtly lowers, as if recoiling. "Report: the report extrapolated that Unit Buffalo-01's malfunction was caused by a marginal error in its mathematical processing."

"Right. So there's your answer." By the dismissiveness in its tone and the immediance with which it resumes its writing, it's clear that the replicant is done with this conversation.

The BF, however, is not. "Negative: there were irregularities that cannot be entirely explained by the presence of a mathematical error."

Another tap of the pen leaves a period of ink. Nearly finished. "Like?"

"Discrepancy: Unit Buffalo-01 cited statistical data as the justification for its insubordination. However, this mission was Unit Buffalo-01's first deployment. It should not have possessed the necessary data to form such a divergent hypothesis."

The replicant says nothing; it only finishes two more sentences without a split second's delay.

With a grinding of cog-joints, the BF takes an insistent step forward.

"Additional discrepancy: Unit Buffalo-01 was intent on going against your direct commands, which even a mathematical error should not be able to override."

Tap. One last period to conclude the far-too-long list of reclaimed artifacts. The replicant picks up the papers and shuffles them into a neat stack. Its job, at last, is done. And so it hops down from its chair and, heedless of the BF, begins to mince out of the room.

But not before the BF's voice groans out again. "Additional discrepancy: when confronting Officress Astrid and Conscript Wolfe, Unit Buffalo-01's actions did not align with standard lethality subprotocols. Aside from its statements, there was no indication that Unit Buffalo-01 actually intended to kill-"

It goes silent as the replicant gently, casually places a hand on its snout. Within its processor, tiny machinery clicks and grinds. And when it removes its hand... the bot remains silent^[2].

"You should go recharge." it says, as if there'd never been a conversation. And even stranger, the BF seems to hold this same notion as it chirps in compliance and mechanically strolls out of the room. The replicant is left alone; it sighs, it closes its eyes, and then it discorporated into the ephemeral mana from which it was constructed.

The room, now, is empty - empty except for the table on which lies a lantern and a neat stack of papers - papers, upon which is written the results of the mission - the mission whose name is written in bold letters at the very top of the first page.

Operation: Wooden Sword

---

1. Replicant
2. Fade from Memory (Replicant)