Chương 108: 7.10 No Return without Receipt or Label

2104: 04: 12: 18: 41: 11 All of us regrouped at Sentinels HQ – the defunct buffet restaurant – sharing takeout while giving our after action reports. Everyone was unsure on how to feel about today's events. Not a single captured villain among all the heroes, and that despite the fact of the mission's overall success. The entirety of Magistry's city-wide (and further) teleportation- and summoning network had been destroyed.

From what Rhennish and the other directly involved Sentinels had shared, doing so had been a breeze. Which didn't make any sense. Why put so much effort into building such a network if you were just going to give it up at the first opportunity? Didn't Friend-of-Fiends care at all about what he'd built? It was a ridiculous thought, if it weren't for the fact that Mantellan thought that was exactly the reason why.

"Friend-of-Fiends has never been the ambitious sort," Mantellan said.

"They've always preferred doing magic over villainy, and Charm's been considered a dead end for Magistry since long ago. Friend-of-Fiends may have even deliberately chosen Charm as his station because it was a dead end."

"Then why do all this in the first place?" Amber asked, irritated.

"Why go through the effort if they didn't even want to do it?"

"That's the point I'm trying to make," Mantellan said.

"They probably didn't want to, but were likely forced to by either King-of-Maggots, or one of the magi directly a strata lower than him."

"So, what?" Doombell grunted.

"All we've accomplished here is fulfill Friend-of-Fiends' dreams?"

"Would explain the weirdness of our dueling arrangement," I said.

"And why we only encountered summoned creatures at the nexuses," Aetherna added. Mantellan shrugged.

"Or the Jannacht situation and Motorgang's rise pushed them into an awkward consolidation with the remaining gangs out of self-preservation, and their goal is preservation over ambition. Or maybe it was all just a half-hearted attempt at showing ambition to their superiors. Honestly, who knows what Magistry's up to on any given day?"

"Certainly not Magistry," Blade Eater joked. Nobody laughed.

"Better that than the alternative," Aetherna said.

"I'll take a lazy Magistry over an ambitious one any day." Silence filled the restaurant at that statement, until Rhennish broke it.

"So if that's the case, what will be our new approach against Magistry? What do we take away from all… all of this?" Nobody said anything because honestly, what was there to say?

"Fucking Magistry…" Doombell grumbled. A sentiment we could all agree with. This was what I skipped sambo for? Was that why Nth-Sight had hated them so much? Though rather than crimes against reality, it was more a crime against decency than anything else. A crime against proper masquerade etiquette. Why even be a villain at that point? What self-respecting villain would half-heartedly build an entire network tailor made to conquer a city, only to end up abandoning it at the first sign of struggle?

A villain without much self-respect, I supposed.

"Just… treat them as any other villain?" Naomi suggested. Again nobody said anything for a moment, until Blade Eater smacked his hand on the table.

"Welp, best idea I've heard so far." He rose from his chair.

"Now unless there's anything else, I'd like to go home now. A six v three v four is tiring enough without the battle ending on a sour note – and unlike some of you, I don't have infinite stamina." X Half the Sentinels left with Blade Eater, including Amber – something about an issue with her family she didn't want to get into. Considering she was in a foul mood already, I prepared myself for some complaining in the future. I remained though.

There weren't many chances for me to hang out with Naomi due to the relative distance of our homes – hers was in Greenside – and the lack of a good and proper backstory to explain our friendship. Not that I cared too much about that – it wasn't that strange to find friends online, I felt – but Naomi was a lot more paranoid about it. Specifically around her parents.

While they were in the know of who Naomi was in her masked identity, she told me they didn't talk that often about it, and feared her parents disapproved of it.

"They didn't use to, I don't think," Naomi said glumly.

"Probably started after you-know-what happened to Jagar and Elegast, along with everything else that came with the Jannacht." We were on the second floor of the restaurant, away from Mantellan, Aetherna and Changelinger talking downstairs about Changelinger's training. We'd changed clothes – I kept a set of civilian wear here at Sentinels HQ and at the base in The Hub – and Naomi's clothing style was… something, to be sure.

What should've been called basic – jeans and a black hoodie – took a turn for the unusual thanks to a large graphic print of robots ("Mechs," Naomi said) in an action-movie-like pose in the center, and stitched-on patches of individual heads and bodies of them occupying her jeans. It was, I felt, something other-Sam might've appreciated.

"Then why did they approve in the first place?" I asked her.

"I mean what happened was bad, but like…" It was a part of being a hero, I thought. Naomi understood without me having to say it.

"Yeah, I know. But Charm's a pretty peaceful city, and they liked the idea of the Sentinels enough to not push back." I knew from previous conversations that it'd been on her own initiative that she joined the Sentinels. Something about their storied history had attracted her, though she couldn't name what exactly. Unlike me though, she did get prior (if hesitant) approval from her parents. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Naomi continued.

"Maybe they thought they weren't that active anymore. Like a relic from the past, or a living museum piece or something? I don't think they followed the masquerade much before I became a part of it, and even now I don't know if they pay much attention." She shrugged self-consciously.

"Again, we don't speak much at home about it…"

"Not even your little brother?" She'd told me they had a good relationship. Again, Naomi shrugged, but there was a small smile on her lips.

"He's the exception, I guess. It's the only thing he still looks up to me for, now that he thinks robots aren't cool anymore." She laughed.

"But whenever I try to bring it up to my parents… I don't know. They didn't pay attention when I did, so I just stopped."

"Man, that sucks." Mouth still open, I searched for some word to continue, but, "I don't really know what else to say to that, to be honest." Naomi snorted.

"Yeah, me neither," she said.

"Do you talk with your mom about it?" I nodded.

"Yeah, for the most part. Like I said before, she wants some say and to be kept in the loop whenever I go out and stuff." I'd already told her the story of how Mom found out I was a masked – to a minute-long laugh from Naomi – and how and why Mom had 'allowed' me to continue. Not the full truth – no telling her Mom was Peakstar – but that as a rescue worker, Mom understood the calling. Naomi sighed wistfully.

"How do you do it?" I shrugged.

"I don't know, I just kinda do it when I feel like it. Like whenever I find some new form, or fight some henchies or a masked, or capture some criminals; I just feel like telling her, so I just… do."

"So you just share everything?"

"Well… Not everything."

"Oh?" Naomi leaned forward, intrigued. I hesitated, but not for long. I'd already told everyone else and their reactions had been, if not immediately positive, always supportive in the end. Even Mom, and she'd been the hardest to tell by far. By now it should almost feel easy. Almost.

"You know how I was achronally displaced, right?" I'd only brought it up once, but that conversation had been a long one. Naomi nodded.

"Well… that might not exactly be true."

"Might?" I combed a hand through my hair, taking a moment.

"I… didn't wake up on the forest floor freshly, ah, materialized out of some time wound or something, but underneath it. In a laboratory. With a maker – my maker – hovering over me." Naomi was physically taken aback, eyebrows raised and blinking while leaning deeper into our corner couch.

"So… what? You're an android or something?" For that to be her first guess…

"Yes." And with that answer, a spark was set alight. She leaned forward again and examined me with new eyes filled with a deep interest bordering on zeal. It was kinda awkward, to be honest. Before she said anything, she poked me in the ribs, hard.

"Ow! What was that for?" Some, though not all, of the light in her eyes dimmed.

"You're not metal?" She made to poke me again. I slapped her hand away and yelled, "No!"

"Aww," she aww-ed, and she sounded real disappointed too.

"Way to get my hopes up! Here I thought I found an actual, like, real-life android!" She sighed, then narrowed her eyes.

"Are you sure you're an android?"

"Yes-! Well, that's actually kind of up in the air- I mean, I know I'm an android – or thought I knew, at least – but others, especially Mom and my therapist, think I'm not. I mean, I know I'm not made of metal, but there are other kind of androids, you know?" That lit the spark again.

"'Do I know?' Do you know how long I've dreamed of making androids and the like? Basically all my life! God, I was even resentful of my powers when I first got them! Like, yes, a caller is cool, great even, and mine's cooler than most – but I've only been able to call one robot so far – One! – and it's not even a cool one. Tried calling mechs and androids, but…" She sighed.

"Oh, why couldn't I be a maker! I have a signed autograph of Enginate – he's a bipedal weapons platform maker out in North India; we went there on vacation once – but even he doesn't even make proper sentient machine; those are soooo rare! Like, I know there are technically some in the Arctics and the naval administrations and whatnot, but they're more rumor than real by this point. And even they don't build real androids, I don't think.

Not like Machionessa back in the 80s – too bad she was a villain; what I would've given to have her power! Or Samuel Thokoane back in the Dark Age, he-" When talking with Naomi I'd sometimes hit a conversational vein and a wealth of information would come flooding out. There was little I could do to stop it, and definitely not without pressing on Naomi's insecurities – which I obviously didn't want to do. Not that I really minded much whenever it happened.

Naomi was clearly passionate about some things – in this case mechs and, apparently, androids – and it was nice to see. And it wasn't like she expected you to memorize everything she said or anything; you just needed to be there, and listen, and not mock her, and that was it.

"-on, but those types of experimental flying machine got mostly discontinued right after the Unification. A shame, but it made sense considering the state of the world." Naomi released a sigh, breathing in and out a couple of times as she cooled her engines. A frown marred her face as she turned back to me and said, "So wait; who's your maker? No way it's Crowsong or any of the other Sentinels. Your mom-? No, wait, that also doesn't make sense; you said you hid this from her."

She mulled it over for a moment, then snapped her finger and pointed at me.

"It's your brother! Oh wait, damn!" Eyes wide, she shrunk inward.

"Shouldn't speculate, right? Sorry." I shook my head "It's not him, and you don't have to worry about the Treaty," I said, sighing.

"His name was Trajan Baker. He was… already close to dying when he made me. He himself had only returned from achronal displacement just three days before that, and while he did manage to construct a laboratory and make me in that time, the quality wasn't… great. The aftershocks of the earthquakes released on his return collapsed his base and was ultimately what killed him in the process."

"Wait, your maker is dead?" Naomi asked.

"But doesn't that mean-""I have Mad Android Syndrome?" I completed for her. She winced at the term, which felt nice in a strange way.

"Well, I think the term is 'maker degradation', but yeah. That." I nodded.

"I do. Hence why I told my therapist and my mother." She nodded, looking somber at the news, but only for a moment. Then, she was frowning and scratching her head in confusion.

"Wait, but he's been dead for months, right?"

"Hm-mm," I hummed affirmatively.

"How does that work?"

"He made a program called the Heroic Impulse to prevent it from happening."

"He stopped it with a piece of software?" She clearly didn't believe it to be possible, but then again, "Well, it obviously failed or I wouldn't have had to tell my therapist." Or my mom for that matter.

"No no; that's not how it works, Sam," She groaned in frustration.

"You don't just stop maker degradation with some code of all things. It's like, a universal law of maker powers that too-complex creations degrade!" I huffed, irritated.

"Yeah, well, mine did – or it did long enough to stall it, anyway." Naomi breathed in deep.

"Okay." And released it.

"Okay, even if that is possible, consider this then: if your maker made a superpowered piece of software that can somehow stop something as complex as maker degradation, and that something also has to run on maker-tech hardware to function; how come those managed to last too?" I opened my mouth, but found myself confused.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that, as you yourself said, the Heroic Impulse itself degrades. Except, it has lasted just as long as you, right?" I nodded slowly. The logic checked out, but I was still dubious about it.

"Okay," she continued.

"Then what made the Heroic Impulse last that long?" I frowned.

"What do you-?" and then I understood.

"Unless your Heroic Impulse has a Heroic Impulse of its own, it would've also long since degraded – and you with it," she said.

"Unless that program has a program, but then that program needs a program, and so on until infinity- or, well, maybe with like, ten iterations of that you'd be able to stay off maker degradation until today. But your maker only had three days, right?" I groaned, cradling my head. Why had I never thought of that?

"Maybe the Heroic Impulse didn't count as complex enough?" I offered as a rebuttal. Naomi shrugged.

"Maybe. But if it was simple enough to be written simply, you'd think a, like, programming maker or something would've figured it out and publicized it by now." Still cradling my head, I nodded. I hadn't believed my own words anyhow. If the Heroic Impulse was intelligent – or complex, or itself sentient – enough for it to try to bargain, cajole or take control over my body, it was certainly too complex to function without a maker to back it up.

The only way it wouldn't be was if it hadn't been made by a maker, but I highly doubted it.

While reverse engineering maker-tech had become a booming business – even the booming business – ever since the end of the Dark Age and the Unification, it was a slow process of figuring out the underlying real-world physics that it revealed, making hypotheses and performing experiments, thinking up and constructing the tools necessary to interact with said layer of reality, building and testing prototypes, etcetera, etcetera.

A very lengthy process, and while self-learning machines were utilized to practically automate three quarters of the world's production – or something like that; I'd never looked too deeply at those numbers – even those machines were a far cry from true sapient, human intelligence. I sighed and raised my head.

"Welp. Good thing I'm doing the RAT test then to confirm it.""'RAT test'?" she asked. I blinked.

"You've looked into androids that much, but never heard of the RAT – the Raadsburg Artificiality Test?" She shook her head.

"Huh," I huh-ed.

"Heard of the GAC then? The General Authenticity Check?" Again she shook her head. How laser focused did her interest in androids need to be for that to happen?

"Well, the GAC is basically there to confirm that someone is who they say they are. Achronally displaced are required to do it because in the past people like, tried replacing people, you know? Mostly shifters, but androids as well. It didn't catch me, so now I'm doing the RAT to confirm. Which is basically a more intense and extensive version of the GAC, aimed also at checking whether someone has powers, is being influenced by powers, or is, well, built by powers, etcetera."

"So… you might not really be an android then?" Again, I sighed, feeling all my energy drain from me as I heard the question that'd been plaguing me for weeks said out loud.

"I don't even know anymore. There's a lot of evidence for me to not be the achronally displaced Samantha Pearsson, but also for me to not be the android send to replace her." I groaned. Naomi rubbed my back.

"Well, I guess the RAT would help clear that up. When are you…?"

"It's scheduled on the 18 th this month." Her eyebrows raised.

"What? Only two days after our Motorgang raid?"

"Yep," I said listlessly.

"Will be a busy week, I suppose." I couldn't wait for it to be over with, one way or the other.