Washington D.C.

Temporary USAIF Main Office

Anya sat at the far end of a long table, next to Pan. She had purchased some fairly professional-looking clothes for the occasion, as several people (mostly Tori and Immonen) had said it would only help her. Tori’s exact words had been, “You need to look like a boring accountant. Not somebody who weaponized a volcano and kicked a stadium into an ocean. Take it from an actual boring accountant.”

So she had purchased a drab gray skirt that stretched down to her shins, matching jacket, and a white blouse. A pair of black heels completed the outfit and she’d even tied her unruly red hair back in a neat bun, even though it was already on the short side.

Pan fidgeted in the chair beside her. He had been given a child’s high-chair and looked both adorable and very nervous. Somebody had told him to “dress-well,” and the pangolin had ditched his usual baggy pants and open, sleeveless robe. Instead, he had purchased a tuxedo from his RAC store for relatively cheap, since there weren’t any giant pangolin-friendly clothes on the planet and going to a tailor would’ve taken too long.

So while Anya looked quite dull, Pan looked like some kind of pangolin playboy off to or getting back from a ritzy evening, but one whose guilt was catching up to him. He fidgeted with his claws and his long pink tongue flicked out of his mouth and at the sides of his face or onto the surface of the table.

The other end of the table was populated by three people: Director MacDougal, General Johnson, and Senator Kalawai’a. MacDougal had her usual stony expression, while Johnson looked more disappointed than anything, and Kalawai’a glared across the expanse of the table at Anya and Pan. The Hawaiian senator was by far the youngest, her long black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, her dark skin unlined by age or stress. She was probably in her forties but could have passed for thirties.

“You understand we appreciate your efforts,” MacDougal said to Anya and Pan. “You saved countless lives and defeated one of the two biggest threats to the planet. But we just can’t let the level of reckless decision-making and property damage slide.”

“This is still absurd,” Johnson said and glanced at MacDougal. “It’s a war. I’ve been personally responsible for ordering that level of destruction be done to a city. Well, close to that level. I’ve lost count of the number of bombs and missiles and god-knows what else I’ve ordered decimate an enemy encampment.”

“This wasn’t an enemy encampment,” Kalawai’a said. “This was a major US city.”

Anya bit her lip. She had a number of words for Kalwai’a, but she thought of Tori and the hosts. She and Pan had been directly responsible for more destruction than Big Al and its horde combined. Technically New Delhi was worse, but the eruption of the volcano had been stretched across a much longer area of land.

“I’m sorry,” Pan said. “I thought I was helping.”

“We realize you did not fully understand the consequences or circumstances of your actions,” MacDougal said. “That doesn’t excuse you, but it means we’re taking that into account.”

“Pan only did what I told him to,” Anya said. “He shouldn’t be here.”

“He should be, and so he is,” Kalawai’a said. “But you’re right about the other thing. He only acted on your directions, which is the subject of this inquiry.”

“My directions killed a giant alien, and have also been pretty good at getting smaller aliens killed well before you even knew about them,” Anya snapped.

“You have proven to be a liability,” Kalawai’a said. “And the citizens I represent have paid for it. There is ample evidence that you are unstable and apathetic to damaging your surroundings at a whim.”

“What!” Anya said. “I have gone out of my way since the first alien attacked me in Prospect Park to distance myself from the public during a fight!”

“Prospect Park is still in the center of one of the most densely populated areas in the nation. A host and several officers died as a result of your rash behavior that night. True or false?” Kalawai’a asked. Anya felt her heat rise and grit her teeth.

She still had nightmares about Carl’s head splattering apart in a bloody firework of bone and brain. She still heard the cops screaming as the puppet melted their faces or snapped their spines. She’d had a few lunches with Ramierez since then, the only surviving officer of the attack. He still struggled with it: survivor’s guilt or something.

Immonen had tried to console her about it. She had been untested, scared, new to the whole idea. She had made mistakes, but the deaths of Carl and the others hadn’t been her fault. The alien had killed them, not her. She hadn’t wanted them to die, hadn’t sacrificed them to save herself.

That Kalwai’a would use all that to score some kind of points against her made her blood boil. It must have shown too because Kalawai’a’s scowl faltered and shifted towards fear for an instant.

“We know that wasn’t your fault,” General Johnson said. “If one of my marines was thrown into a combat situation on their first day of boot camp, I’d be surprised if they survived.”

“That isn’t the only incident,” Kalawai’a said.

“I wrecked a couple floors of a department store in Chicago, and a few floors of 26 Federal Plaza. Big deal,” Anya said.

“The incidents in Chicago and Manhattan are not what I’m talking about. While the damage on the night of the Tornado was extensive, it was also mostly due to alien action, with the exception of Mr. Hendricks’ anti-matter cannon,” the senator said. “I’m talking about Beijing and Clemson.”

“Clemson?” Anya asked.

Oh, she thought. Mom’s yard.

“What happened in Clemson was nothing. A front lawn and some flowers and shitty porcelain cherubs,” Anya said.

“I don’t care if it was a single blade of grass. You used your powers to personally attack a private citizen. If a Navy SEAL threw a grenade at his neighbor’s car because of a personal dispute, they’d be locked up. Even if nobody was hurt, that’s still unacceptable. And it’s indicative of a large problem.”

“Like what?” Anya said. “That I respond badly to people treating me like shit for years?”

“We have statements from multiple hosts that during the confrontation with the CCP’s first generation robotic soldiers that claim you were, and I’m quoting, ‘having a blast,’ and ‘really getting into blowing things up,’ and ‘being a real fucking badass lighting everything on fire.’”

Anya frowned and looked down at the table as she folded her arms across her chest.

“You ever been in combat, senator?” Johnson asked her.

“No,” she said.

“Adrenaline gets going. Fight or flight. Marines, soldiers, sailors, airmen, they’ll fight. Well, maybe not airmen,” Johnson said and chuckled. MacDougal shot him a look and he cleared his throat. “My point in, a servicewoman in an intense situation like that experiencing an adrenaline rush is perfectly normal.”

“Maybe. But acting on it or indulging in it shouldn’t be,” Kalawai’a said. Plenty of other hosts have managed to keep themselves in check during combat. Samaira Upadhyay, Gary Hendricks, Pan, Rachel Park, Renn, Li Qiu Chan, most of the hosts.

"In fact, looking over the many, many battle reports, there are only five people that routinely lack discipline: Brody, who is a killer shark; Zoya, who we think has some kind of mania or bipolar disorder; Jiro, who won’t even speak or acknowledge anybody unless it’s about killing; Cooper, who is a drug addict; and Anya.

“This has culminated in events that have left my state in ruins, lowered property values for years to come, bankrupted multiple citizens and businesses, and left thousands homeless.”

Anya really wanted to set something on fire. The only thing that kept her from igniting the long table in front of her and Pan was that it would be exactly what Kalawai’a wanted. Still, maybe she could just raise the temperature of the air around her head enough to make her dizzy, pass out, go get an early lunch.

She sighed and drummed her fingers on her bicep.

This was stupid. She shouldn’t have to sit here and get dressed down like she was back in the principal’s office in elementary school.

I could just leave. They couldn’t stop me, Anya thought.

And then she thought of Tori telling her to do the interview two weeks ago.

People are scared, she had said. Anya wouldn’t blame anybody for being scared. If she didn’t have powers, how would she feel about a single person having the power to command a volcano. And she had been plenty upset whenever there had been a story about a cop taking bribes or misusing their authority to push people around, and they’d still just been a regular person; not a super-powered Cosmic Warden.

She could walk out. She could ignore the government and do pretty much whatever she wanted.

And then…

And then maybe other hosts would, or they’d gang up and attack her, or any number of other things. But the worst thing would be that she would have decided that none of this, the people who couldn’t fight, the people who needed the ones with powers to stay calm and level, didn’t matter. She would be the only person who mattered: just what she wanted, what she thought was right.

Like her mom.

Anya let out a sigh and put her hand on top of Pan’s head to soothe the pangolin’s nervous fidgeting.

“All right. I acted rashly. I ruined a big chunk of a major city and people, though alive, are having a hard time, to put it lightly,” Anya said. “What do you want me to do? Yai and Pan have already stabilized everything, Gary’s robots are putting things back together. What do you want from me?”

Kalawai’a blinked at Anya and opened and closed her mouth as if unsure what words she wanted to come out of it. MacDougal leaned forward and met Anya’s gaze evenly, with steady surety.

“We want thought and consideration. Maybe using the volcano was the best option. We won’t know. You didn’t really give anybody else a chance to formulate other plans. Granted, time was a factor, but you didn’t even try. You had what you wanted to do in mind and you decided to do it,” MacDougal said.

“We’re thinking of establishing an official Chain-of-Command for hosts,” Johnson said. “While you get general orders from MacDougal or the President, the moment-to-moment decisions in combat and the rules for that haven’t really been established. We’d like to change that, have something more solid put in place.”

Anya didn’t hate the idea. If she could just hand the tough decisions off to somebody, that was fine with her. Especially if it was another host.

“Gary,” Anya said. “Gary would be great. He has military experience, he’s thought of a bunch of good ideas so far. He’s got ways to communicate with hosts and you guys.”

“We’d prefer Mr. Hendricks,” MacDougal said. “But he is being…stubborn, about joining on with the USAIF in an official capacity.”

“You can’t let these people walk over the United States because they have power,” Kalawai’a said. “He’s a US citizen. He’s broken god only knows how many laws. His anti-matter bombs——”

“Destroyed empty buildings, some national parkland in Canada that was a frozen waste, and some sand in the ocean,” Johnson said. “He’s a marine. I’ll talk to him about it again. We can be plenty stubborn, though.”

“If Gary won’t do it, then who?” Anya asked.

“Samaira Upadhyay,” Kalawai’a said. “She’s shown herself to think quickly and tactically. Her powerset allows for diverse usage in the field beyond mindless destruction, and she’s well-educated. Her psych profile regarding her family is…favorable, as well.”

What a fucking shitheel, Anya grumbled to herself. Using her own shitty family against her was a low blow.

“It’s not a done deal,” Johnson said. “But the idea has been floated and well-received by the President.”

“Samaira’s a good woman,” Anya agreed. “I think she’d be good at it.”

This once again seemed to upset Kalawai’a, who huffed and leaned back in her chair. Johnson just nodded and MacDougal shuffled some papers in front of her.

“We expect that whoever we announce, you will support,” MacDougal said. “Furthermore, it would be good of you to make an appearance in Honolulu to provide aide in the ongoing reconstruction efforts. Move some rubble out of the way, clean up the impromptu caldera you made, that sort of thing.”

Anya sighed and nodded.

“Now, you,” MacDougal said and glanced at Pan, who had been silent the entire time. He squeaked and curled inward a bit. “Same deal. Go to Honolulu with Anya, put the mountain back together as best you can, do something cute on camera for the news.”

“O-okay?” Pan asked. “Is that all?”

“Do you know about the Chain-of-Command, lil’ fella?” Johnson asked.

“Chains are uh…metal ropes?” Pan said, his voice shaking.

“We’ll work on that too, then,” Macdougal said and then pointed at Anya. “Make teaching roley-poley here about basic military terms and ideas part of your mea culpa while we’re at it.”

“Yeah, fine,” Anya said.

“Unless there’s anything else, I think that will do,” MacDougal said.

“All the collateral damage forms and funding that needs to be diverted…” Kalawai’a said.

“Is accounting department business and does not require us at the moment,” MacDougal said. “This hearing is adjourned.”

Johnson stood and shook Anya’s hand on the way out.

“I know this seems like you got spanked, young lady, but you did real good. People are alive because of you. I heard that you and the others held that thing off until every civilian was clear, and that kinda thing deserves praise. You keep that kinda thinking up front, you’ll be okay.”

“Thank you, General,” Anya said. Johnson smiled at her, then waved at Pan. Pan waved back as Johnson left. Kalawai’a just glanced at the both of them and strode out, leaving MacDougal behind as she collected papers into a folder.

“Pan, you go ahead. I gotta talk to the director real quick,” Anya said.

“Okay! Bye Ms. Director!” Pan said and waddled out.

“Good afternoon,” she said without looking up. Anya stood in front of her, towering over the smaller woman. “What is it, Nowicki?”

“It’s about Agent Riley,” she said. “I didn’t get to attend his funeral because I was still recovering after the…well, you know. I just wanted to ask how it was.”

“It was a funeral for a federal agent. You seen one, you seen them all,” MacDougal said. Anya blinked.

“That…that’s it?” she asked. MacDougal looked up and sighed at Anya.

“Christian Riley was a good agent. He was smart, he was level-headed, he was talented, and he’s dead. I sent him into the field knowing he might die. I’ve done it to dozens, maybe hundreds of other agents, and I’ll do it again, and again, until I retire.”

“What the hell are you——” Anya said before she cut herself off. She couldn’t finish. There was a lump in her throat. She never thought of MacDougal as a softie but this was borderline mean.

“I’m doing what I need to do. I was in the Bureau as a young woman in the eighties. Do you know what that was like? If I so much as sniffled when I saw a dead kid, or dabbed at my eyes when my first partner got shot, that would’ve been it for me. They’d have called me hysterical, emotional, unfit for duty, whatever excuse they could’ve thought up.

“You think I’m upset Riley is dead? Hell yes I’m upset. He was a damn good agent, he was my agent. But sometimes agents die, and the best thing I can do is make that mean something. Because if I get all weepy every time somebody dies because of a call I made, I’d never do anything again.”

Anya blinked again.

“What you did in Hawaii was the craziest thing I’ve seen in my life, and I’m saying this after an alien invasion and five years undercover in the Russian mob, but it needed to be done,” MacDougal said. “If you start getting all weepy, or second-guessing yourself, then you’ll never get anything done either. If you gave up after those cops got killed in Brooklyn, who knows what would’ve happened in Chicago, or Manhattan, or anywhere.”

“But just now, you and Kalawai'a acted like I needed to be punished for——”

“You need to be made an example of. You’re one of our best weapons against the aliens, and that big bastard needed to die, so you killed him. But now we need to show that our best weapons are still under our control, that we’ve got the reins and things are going smoothly. Kalawai’a’s a typical self-serving politician. Next election, she’ll use all these soundbites she’s been making to get re-elected. But she’s not wrong: people need to know that we still have the reins. It's just another thing that needs to be done to maintain stability.

“We will expect you to follow orders, Nowicki. But don’t be a robot or a coward. If I want robots I’ll call Hendricks or General Huang. If I want cowards I’ll call my in-laws,” MacDougal said, then marched towards the door. She stopped at the exit and looked over her shoulder and said, “Riley was partial to sunflowers, by the way. If you want to stop by his grave.”

“Uh, yeah. Thank you,” Anya said. MacDougal nodded and then left her alone in the conference room.

Anya had gone to the cemetery the next day, before her orders demanded she be in Hawaii. MacDougal had given her a brief bit of leave to visit the grave, though she hadn’t explicitly said so. Her message merely said her day off was for “Personal reasons,” and nothing more.

Riley had been buried in a plot his family had outside a small town in Maryland. It was a simple gray headstone with rough edges and a glossy front and back.

CHRISTIAN ALEXANDER RILEY

November 16, 1979 ~ April 12, 2021

Beloved Son, Brother, Friend, and Patriot

Somebody had left a single large sunflower on the headstone, though it had been a couple days ago or more. Its yellow petals had browned and curled inward. Anya took the dead flower and replaced it with a small bunch of fresh ones inside of a glass vase she had made out of melted sand and then cooled. She set the flowers on one side of the headstone, opposite a paper cup full of coffee she had heated and a small paper bag with a couple donuts in it.

“I liked Riley,” Pan said beside her. He had made a tiny clay figure of a man that actually bore a passing resemblance to the late agent. Pan was one of the few from the Battle of Honolulu who hadn’t attended the funeral almost immediately following Riley’s passing. The pangolin had been so exhausted from the effort and lacked any restorative powers to get back on his feet quickly. Immonen could’ve done it, but all of his healing talents were focused on the injured survivors of the attack.

Gary and Samaira had been at the funeral, but had come along with Anya and Pan anyway, though both stood a short distance behind the pair.

“He was the sixth human I met,” Pan continued. “I mean, after I got smart. I was still scared meeting new people, but he was really nice to me.”

“Yeah. I was scared meeting Riley too,” Anya said. “I thought he was gonna try and arrest me or tell the president to throw the military at me, or hold Tori hostage or something. But he just…got me breakfast.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him,” Pan said. Pan got down on one knee and put her muscular arm around Pan. She pulled him gently into her side in a soft hug. “What happened? He seemed so healthy when I left.”

Anya sighed. When she had sensed the lack of heat from him, she had immediately called for Immonen. The doctor had rushed to them, but shaken his head. He said Riley had died from internal bleeding. The concussive beam from Big Al hadn’t struck him directly, but the shockwaves it sent through the air had essentially scrambled his insides. Anya’s medi-gel gun hadn’t been anywhere near enough. Even if Immonen had been there, he would have had perhaps a minute or two to act to save Riley. He’d likely been in shock, too shaken to actually feel what had been done to him, or that he was dying. The forcefield had taken so much damage during the fight that the massive burst of Big Al’s concussive beam had finally broken through it.

“Not your fault,” Anya said. “I——” she started to say it was hers. That he had died because of her, like Carl, the cops, the people in 26 Federal Plaza, Alvita, and the eighty other people who had died in the attack on Honolulu.

Then she heard Immonen telling her again it wasn’t her fault. She did what she could.

“I know Riley wouldn’t blame either of us. He knew what he was doing. The alien killed him. We killed the alien,” Anya said, then she also heard MacDougal in the back of her head. “We can’t let this stop us. We make this mean something, we keep going. It’s okay to cry, but don’t let it stop you from trying again, all right?”

“Okay,” Pan said. “I don’t know if pangolins can cry but I’m still really sad.”

“Me too little guy,” Anya said and hugged him again. She patted the top of the tombstone and then sighed. “Thanks Riley.”

“Thank you, Riley,” Pan said and walked back towards Gary and Samaira.

“You kids gonna be okay?” Gary asked.

“Yeah. It’s just…shitty,” Anya said. “Wished I’d spent more time telling him I appreciated everything.”

“He was a good man,” Gary nodded.

“If it weren’t for him, the USAIF might not even exist,” Samaira said. “I only went along with the whole contacting the government idea because you said he was nice.”

“Yeah, we lucked out,” Anya said.

“I didn’t stay for the wake after, so what say we have a drink in his honor?” Gary asked.

“God I wish I could still get drunk,” Anya said. “I’ll still drink though.”

“I am thirsty,” Pan said.

“I don’t usually, but yes, a drink sounds good,” Samaira added.

“Pan, can you drink booze?” Anya asked.

“Umm, I dunno. I know what alcohol is. Alllllcooooohol. Alcohol. But I’ve never tried it. Is it good?” he asked.

“We’ll get a few Jack and Cokes in you and you can tell us,” Gary said and chuckled.

“I can’t be drunk. That’s when you go crazy, right? I have to go back to Hawaii tomorrow and pretend to fix things for photo pops,” Pan said.

“Photo Ops,” Anya corrected. “As in Photo Opportunity. As in bullshit.”

“Is that what they got you doing?” Gary shook his head as they left the cemetery. “One of the many reasons I’m never officially joining.”

“Could be worse,” Samaira said and puffed out her cheeks. “They could’ve made you the new boss.”

“And that’s another reason,” Gary said.

“Wait, they confirmed it?” Anya asked. “Uh, congratulations?”

“Thank you, but I’m a little too nervous about it. They said it was me for now, or some Army guy who seemed a little uh…underqualified.”

Gary laughed.

“Only temporary, but still, hoping I don’t screw things up,” Samaira said and twisted a few strands of her long black hair around each other as she fidgeted.

“Hey, you’ll be fine,” Anya said and patted her on the shoulder. Samaira looked at her with her dark eyes and smiled. Anya wasn’t sure, but she thought it might have looked a little sad.

We’re at a cemetery, stupid, she thought to herself.

“Well, even more reasons to drink,” Gary said. “To a good man, to a good new boss, and to good luck to photo ops,” Gary said as they all climbed into the V-200 and flew toward the nearest bar.