Through his binoculars, Jean watched the Padania hitman sprawl across the tar roof, a dark pool spreading under his still form. "One shot, one kill, Rico. You shouldn't have fired twice." He lowered the glasses to the motorcade, rolling in serene ignorance past the ambush point, and was about to put them away when he realized that Rico's reply hadn't been her usual yes, sir. "What did you say?"

The little cyborg lifted her rifle from the sill at the edge of the roof. "I said, blow it out your ear, Jean." She rested her bipod on the surface of the roof next to her case and removed the scope from the rail. "You know I didn't have a decent first shot. He was kneeling behind the sill, and his head was masked by the rocket launcher. All I had was his arm and shoulder. I had to knock him down first. Maybe if you hadn't gone cheap buying an informant, you might have gotten one who'd tell us this guy was left-handed, and we'd have picked a different position."

He said, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Hmp. That's a fine thing to say, coming from a man who has conversations with his dead sister."

His jaw clenched. "You don't talk about her."

"And why not? My life is tied tighter to Enrica Croce than anyone's. Even 'Etta's." She began to break down the Dragunov and nest the pieces in her case. "Some people hear the name you gave me and think you're just trying to prove something about me. But there are a few who know your history, and wonder if you ever called your little sister 'Rica. They're pointed in the right direction, but way short of the target. I know the real reason."

"Oh, do you really." He drew a breath to say more, but she plowed on.

"I do. The same reason you picked a 'candidate' who resembles you enough to be your child. The same reason you cut my hair short and dress me in clothes that make me look like a boy." She snapped the case shut and looked up at him, eyes steady. "You and Jose aren't so different. You both chose surrogates."

Jean's words dried up in his mouth.

"Dante killed five with his bomb that day, not four. Did you and Sofia have two names picked out, or did you know the baby's gender already? Not that it matters. I was never going to have a girl's name. Revenge is man's work, after all." She picked up the case and stood waiting. "You're a hard father, Jean. Sometimes I wonder why I love you." She gave him a sharp look. "Don't say it. Conditioning makes you the center of my world when you're near. It doesn't make me miss you when you're gone."

Jean said, almost growling, "I don't need your damned love. And you're not my child." He looked around for the stair they'd used to reach the roof, but there was nothing close by, and the top of the building was strangely hard to see for any distance in the fading light. Something bothered him about that: hadn't the motorcade passed by in bright sunshine? Where had this darkness come from?

"I know. I'm just a tool, a hunting dog. It's what you tell everyone. But sometimes you forget. The way Jose sometimes forgets he's just pretending that 'Etta's his sister Enrica so that he can stand to be around her. And we want so much to be perfect for you both, we play the role you give us, even when you tell yourselves it's not really what you want, because we know better. Henrietta is Jose's chance to deal with his regrets, to do and say everything he ran out of time for with Enrica. But I'm your unborn son's chance to avenge his mother's murder."

Jean's legs felt leaden. The darkness had closed to deny him sight of anything beyond the immediate area; the sky above was black and featureless. He had the strangest feeling that they weren't on the roof anymore, though they were still in some high place, maybe higher than before. "What's going on here?"

"Not sure." She looked around; Jean wondered if her cybernetic eyes were able to pierce the gloom, or if she was as blind as he. Her gaze returned to him. "Waiting, I think."

The air filled with a tinkling sound. It might have been a titter; it might have been breaking glass. They turned to see an apparition regarding them from the edge of the darkness. "Oh, big brother," Enrica said, "even your little tool sees through you. Your heart may be stone, but your thoughts are no more subtle than a little boy's. And as selfish." She drew closer. "I wonder. If the child had lived, would you have used him just as heartlessly as you treat his replacement? After all, it isn't love that motivates you, now, is it?"

Rico stepped between them and drew her sidearm, pointing it at the spectre. "Go away. You don't belong here."

The vision opened her mouth wide in an expression that showed too many teeth to be a smile. "I? I don't belong here, you miserable little robot?"

"You're not her," Rico said, her aim steady. "She loved him. Living or dead, she would never be so cruel."

"What do you know about it? Who's ever loved you?" The apparition's eyes were daggers. "Who's ever loved you?"

"I know it when I see it," Rico said, unperturbed. "And I'm not much good at lying, but I know a liar when I hear one."

"You don't know anything you're not told. Look at you, trying to threaten me with a pistol, because it's all you know. As if a bullet could touch me. Pathetic."

"Don't be so sure," Rico said, unwavering. "They're dream bullets, after all."

Suddenly the apparition seemed far older – a child still, but marked somehow by years of sin and suffering. She studied Rico's face, then turned, speaking to the little cyborg as she held Jean's eye. "All right," she said, "for now. But don't think this is the end of anything. I'm more a part of him than you will ever be. I'll be with him when you're just spare parts returned to the bins." She stepped backwards into the shadows before she spoke again. "I'll be with him until he dies. Because I have his soul."

Don't go, he thought, even though the specter's presence pained him, because he felt a strange certainty that something worse would follow. He was right: he heard a crackling noise, and the ping of metal heating or cooling; he smelled, faintly, the odor of burning fuel. From the darkness came a woman's voice, blurred with pain, but still instantly familiar: "…Jean…"

His nerves caught fire. He rushed into the darkness. "Sofia!"

Jean opened his eyes to regard a dim white square: some light source outside coming through his bedroom window to illuminate the ceiling. He was in his room at the compound, he remembered, and wondered why he had wakened; it still felt like the middle of the night. He felt his heart slowing, and guessed he'd had a bad dream. He sniffed at the air, unknowingly searching for some scent, but there was nothing but a faint burnt-dust smell from the heat register. He brushed at his eyes to knock the sleep away, and was surprised to find wetness on his cheeks.

He decided he wasn't getting back to sleep right away, and thought of taking a walk, perhaps raiding the kitchen. To think was to act; he threw back the covers and planted his feet on the floor. He put a robe on over his boxers, and slippers on his feet, and ventured out.

He padded down the dim and silent halls, encountering no one, not really headed for the kitchen, just walking. So many of the buildings were interconnected, he thought, he could walk for kilometers without going outside if he wanted. He tried to recall the dream that had wakened him, but got only a feeling of loss. His mind fell into a sort of blank state where he just followed his feet while fleeting images drifted through his half-awake mind.

He was neither surprised nor unsurprised when he found himself in the cyborg dorm, in front of Rico and Henrietta's door.

The door swung silently open under his hand. The dim light from the hallway washed into the little room and touched the bunk beds stacked against the wall. In the top bunk was a hump in the covers that must be Henrietta. But in the bottom one, Jean saw Rico's blonde head lying on the pillow, and her form under the sheets, lying on her side with her knees drawn up. He began to draw the door shut when she stirred. "Jean?"

"Go back to sleep," he said quietly.

Instead, she sat up, wiping at her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

He glanced at the top bunk: no movement. He felt an eerie certainty that, were Jose standing at this door, it would be Henrietta stirring awake and Rico dead to the world. "No. I was just passing by and decided to look in."

She took in his clothing, and instantly came into focus. "Are you not sleepy?" She flipped back her covers and swung her legs out of the bed. She was dressed in the bed jacket and pants he'd bought her last Christmas. "What time is it?"

"Late," he said. "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep, that's all. I'll be ready to go back to bed after a little walk."

"Okay." She padded towards him without stopping for her slippers, as if afraid he might leave her behind at the slightest delay.

"Stop." But instead of ordering her back to bed again, he said, "Don't come flapping out into the hall like a barefoot savage. Get your slippers. I'll wait."

They set off, not speaking yet aware of each other's presence, passing from hallway to hallway, building to building. Jean ambled along, letting Rico set the pace. After awhile, he decided to turn back toward the dormitory building and send his cyborg back to bed. "Rico. This way." He gestured to turn his little companion, then resumed walking when she was alongside.

"Jean? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"The other girls all walk behind their handlers half the time, even Triela and Henrietta. Why do you always want me to walk beside you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He placed a hand at the back of her neck and gave her head a little shake. "I need to keep an eye on you."