Chapter Text
After Jackass had made her final report, Anemone had taken her aside. There, as gently as possible, she had explained to A2 the last betrayal of YoRHa command.
Then she had asked, “Is there anything you need?”
A2 had said, “I don’t know. Maybe a jet?”
To her great surprise, she had gotten one.
At the terminus it was always sunset. Flying east across the ocean, she could not help but think of the Pearl Harbor mission, and half a hundred since then, most of them on her own recognizance. All those people—friends, lovers, allies—they were all behind her now, literally and figuratively. Most of them were dead, aside from Anemone and the two other surviving YoRHa units. She didn’t think she’d see them again. This was not a fear or forboding presentiment, nor was it even something so sturdy as a decision. It was, for now, a nascent thought, slipping over her the same way the clouds flowed over the wing of her flight unit.
“Landing site confirmed,” said Pod 042, jolting her from her reminiscence. “Coordinates set for automatic descent.”
“You could have just left me dreaming,” A2 grumbled. She turned her face away from the setting sun on the right side of her plane, gazing into the easterly darkness as they slipped southward. Ocean waves gave way to hilly ground, and then to a coastal city. A small landing pad atop a squat, multistory building welcomed her, and A2 climbed out of the jet. She stretched, though there was no real stiffness to her muscles to speak of.
From the fading paint still clinging to the walls, this place had been a hospital once. There were almost none left in the Light Kingdom—with no humans left to tend to, most of them had been repurposed for androids, or else destroyed in any of a dozen wars. But there were no androids nor machines here—and for the same reasons, as far as she understood. There was only the overgrowth of natural life that had come to reclaim the city, and occasionally she heard the sounds of animals moving through the streets.
A2 went east. Her shadow was cast before her all the while, until the gloom made it fade around the edges and then it disappeared into the shadow of night. It took less time than she expected, and as she continued she watched stars bloom overhead.
The last time she had seen them was at the Bunker. That was a painful realization—that she had been denied the sight of stars for so long for the sake of betrayed trust, and then for vengeance. Their light was cold and distant, pinpricks in the firmament above the Night Kingdom. Austere and white and beautiful—much like the Bunker itself.
She had never stopped longing for it. That was easier for A2 to admit, even if only to herself, now that she was so far removed from the others. She didn’t doubt they would understand. Perhaps they felt more strongly still—after A2’s own desertion, her successors would have had that loyalty bred into them, as innate to their being as their very personalities. After all, how else could she explain the other No. 2’s behavior? She had seen 2B’s memories, felt the pain in her heart. How many times had she done something she hated because her loyalty demanded it?
Half a world away, A2 felt freer to consider that, too.
There was a chin of gold upon the sky, cresting over the nearby ridge of hills, and A2 made for them. After hours of silence, her pod finally saw fit to address her.
“Proposal,” 042 said. “Unit A2 should return to the city.”
“We’re not doing that,” A2 said.
“As a reminder,” it continued, “YoRHa units are not equipped for sustained deployment in darkness. This unit is concerned for unit A2’s welfare.”
“Don’t worry,” she groused.
There was a ticking clock in the back of her mind as she climbed up the stone. It was cold to the touch—if sunset were truly only some few hours ago, as the length of A2’s walk should have suggested, it might have been warm yet. But it had been night for longer than anyone could remember, and the petrified remains of plant life that yet dotted the area spoke to that.
“Proposal,” the pod said, and A2 mouthed along to it, and to all the words to follow: “Unit A2 should state her intentions.”
“What if I don’t have any?” she asked.
“Then unit A2 should state her goals, so that this pod may help her formulate a set of intentions.”
“I don’t know, pod,” she said, gritting her teeth as she hauled herself up the ridge. “Right now my intentions are to get to the top of this hill, and you’re really distracting me.”
“Pod 042 will cease all speech until unit A2 reaches the crest of the ridge,” it said.
“ Thank you.”
It was as good as its word, although once A2 had slung her leg over the rim and pulled herself up, laying in the dessicated grass, the pod floated into her field of view once more. There was nothing like a face to be found in the flat blankness of its white housing, but from the angle of its position and the way it held its arms she could not help but feel like it was peering down at her. She pushed herself to an upright sitting position, and looked out over the landscape of broken trees and abandoned buildings. They were limned in silver, and the moon hung in the sky opposite.
“Look at that,” she said before the Pod could speak. It hovered beside her shoulder, as though gazing out at the vista beside her. There was a sliver of shadow at the moon’s edge, a crescent of darkness in which she saw a glimmering like stars.
“That is Earth’s Moon,” the pod said, clearly trying to be helpful.
“I know that, ” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not the same, seeing it during the daytime.”
“Query: Did unit A2 come all this way just to look at the moon?”
“No,” she said. “Well, maybe. Pod, how well do you know 9S?”
It seemed like the pod had to think about it a while, but after a while 042 answered, “This pod was not assigned to support unit 9S. However, this pod did have several extended opportunities to observe Unit 9S’s style of combat and his decision-making process. Moreover, this pod has been in communication with Pod 153, and we have shared our observations with one another, granting us both more complete insight.”
That struck her, and she looked over at the pod, its housing glimmering in the moonlight. “Do you miss her?” she wondered.
Another long pause followed. “This pod is not familiar with what it means to miss someone. And besides,” it added, “this pod is still in contact with Pod 153.”
“Have you told her what we’re doing?”
“Yes,” 042 admitted. “This pod is concerned about the effects on unit A2 if you remain in the Night Kingdom. YoRHa unit androids require sunlight energy to power their continued functioning.”
“Yeah,” A2 said. “Anemone told me. A lot of people told me some stuff I don’t know if I should believe. 9S among them. I guess that’s why I was asking.”
“Proposal,” 042 said after a moment. “Unit A2 should ask this pod your questions. This pod promises to provide as complete an answer as is possible.”
“9S told me that a pair of android units really did send the human genome to the moon a long time ago, during the days of Project Gestalt. True or not true?”
“That appears to be accurate,” 042 said. “This pod was not given full disclosure on records surrounding the moon installation or the Council of Humanity, but became privy to such records later via Pod 153.”
“So those lights we see up there, they really are from an installation on the moon?”
“Correct,” 042 continued. “A small detachment of YoRHa androids maintains operations on the moon, including the maintenance of the genome archive.”
A2 frowned. “Are they, you know, okay?”
“During 9S’s exploration of the YoRHa mainframe, no link was discovered between the Bunker and the moon installation systems. Theoretical: such a link would betray the existence of that detachment to the wider YoRHa forces.”
She should have hated them. They were complicit in Command’s lies—not the one that had driven A2 from YoRHa service, true, but a crucial part of their manipulations nevertheless. Instead she found she pitied them. They had been victims, too, of an even crueler lie.
“Are they still alive?” she wondered.
“Pod 153 reports transmissions from the ‘Council of Humanity’ division even after the destruction of the wider portion of YoRHa’s forces. They may still be functioning.”
“Is my flight unit capable of space travel?”
“Negative,” 042 said. “Your flight unit is rated for atmospheric travel only.”
“I guess I can’t get there, then,” she said.
“Proposal: regular shipments were sent from Earth to the moon via automated ‘slingshot-cannon’ system. Unit A2 could infiltrate a shipping unit and use the ‘slingshot-cannon’ to be sent to the moon.”
“Huh,” she said.
She watched the moon rise a little further above the horizon, artificial lights blinking on its dark side. A2 still felt that sense of loyalty pricking at her; that longing for companionship. She was still gazing at the moon when she spoke. “Alright, Pod,” she said finally. “I’m ready to state my intentions.”
“This pod is ready to receive instructions,” 042 said.
“My intentions are to go to the YoRHa moon installation and check on the other androids. They should probably be told the truth about everything.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought that perhaps Pod 042 sounded pleased when it said, “Relaying flight coordinates for nearest launch site to your flight unit.”
“Let’s go,” she said.