9.14 – The Desire for the Blue Android

President Quiché tapped one finger against the desk in a specific rhythm, then switched to his heel, rapid small clicks against the polished wood floor. He rearranged the pens and papers already in their correct positions. Then he checked his reflection in the dark shine of the floor and fixed his brown hair.

Thirty-one years old. The same presidential office that had shaped this country for 332 years, and he was tracing small circles on the desk with his fingertip, waiting for a meeting that should have started four minutes ago.

Most of the presidents who had preceded him in this room had been close to his age, or only a few years older. The older generation understood what the country needed and had protected that tradition carefully: ambitious men who would expand on what the previous ones built.

The 84th president of Remidica looked to his right, where a smaller adjacent office held his vice president in unbroken line of sight. They made eye contact across the space simultaneously, both of them already holding the same thought. Both said it at the same moment.

"They're late."

Both of them smiled, briefly and without warmth.

The office read as a direct extension of the country's character. Floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, the misty city visible far below. Walls in light grey—nearly white, dressed in handcrafted frames. The dark wood floor held a mirror polish, and above it floated the clean white desks of the president and his vice president, hovering at working height. White sofas occupied the guest area with a small floating glass table between them, drinks already placed and waiting.

No curtains anywhere. Nobody came near enough to the building to need them. Security here was an organizing assumption the country had built into itself from the foundation.

Quiché let his eyes rest on the drinks for a moment, then looked back to his right.

"Whose idea was it to set out drinks for robot guests? I'm beginning to lose confidence in the people we brought into this building. We're supposed to be presenting our best."

The vice president's expression was controlled, a small deliberate thing. "Mine, sir. It's a message, understated, but present. This country was not built for them. We are a purely human territory and we don't make concessions for 'anything' else."

"I'd rather not invite friction with Elysium without specific cause. They carry the best combat capability of any android nation on the planet." Quiché let himself appreciate the intent anyway. "But I take your point. Three stars, after all, the country, the flag—"

The four soldiers posted in the room finished without any signal. "And history! Glory to Remidica!"

"It's been some time since anyone let me get there myself." Quiché opened a screen. "They've arrived at the palace. I don't see how that enormous unit gets through any of our doors, what is the logic behind bringing such behemoth?"

"You identified him by instinct, sir." The vice president had the same feed already pulled up on his own screen. "His actual name is Behemoth. Elysium's minister of defense. The largest mech still in active operation, anywhere. His physical scale is a deliberate representation of their military doctrine. Their standing forces are composed of standard four-meter mechs."

"Nothing about four meters qualifies as standard."

"Agreed. Though relative to him—" A second screen opened. "He'll remain outside in the rain."

"Good. The other one is the conversation we actually need to have." Quiché checked the floor's reflection once more and smoothed his hair into place. "Log everything he does. That is Reaper's most capable intelligence asset, and he knows exactly how to carry a message without stating it." He pulled a file toward himself and made a visible project of reviewing it. "Everything."

"Running already." The vice president gestured at the door. A soldier saluted, moved to the entrance, entered a password, and the white wooden doors slid open—automatic despite the handle, revealing the dark figure waiting in the corridor.

Obsidian gave a shallow bow and entered. He stopped in front of the president's desk and ran a quiet read of the room.

No portraits. No sculptures marking any past president. No individual commemorated anywhere across the walls. Flags, and photographs of wars, specifically, only the ones they had won.

'Complete picture. Individualism has been removed by design. Everything here exists in service of the state as the absolute priority. That's why their president attacked Lord Reaper the way he did at the UNG, they cannot tolerate anyone positioned above their own structure. It offends the model.'

Quiché raised one finger without looking up. "One moment." He turned to his right. "Get that report to the agency now, they need it without delay." A brief glance at Obsidian. "Without any delay." He gestured toward the guest chair. "Please."

Obsidian moved to the seating with almost no sound, only the low consistent hum of his ventilation marking his presence in the room. "My apologies for the wait. We chose to arrive without convoy or ceremony, we wanted to take the city in the way any ordinary visitor would. It did not disappoint."

"I appreciate that. I wasn't tracking the time." Quiché folded his hands on the desk. "Maintaining a country of this kind is a more continuous occupation than it appears from outside." He tilted his head slightly. "How was the flight, Mr. Obsidian? I'll say, remarkable name."

"Smooth throughout. The mountain range along the Kasparian border does effective work eliminating any wind that might otherwise complicate approach." Obsidian tilted his own head fractionally, his eyes brightening by a small degree. "I hope those borders remain as calm at ground level as they looked from above."

Quiché leaned back. "Subtlety, I respect that. I have very little time available, unlike certain other positions in this world." A brief smile and then it was gone. "I have one question that determines everything following it. Why would a superpower that has consistently criticized human inefficiency commit to protecting a human country? It doesn't fit the model you present."

"Kasparia is our oldest ally and our closest neighbor. They were the first country to formally recognize Elysium and accept what happened to Altea—" Obsidian lowered his head slightly. "—unlike certain other positions in this world. A stable border is the most consistently undervalued resource in geopolitical terms. We intend to maintain ours."

"Fair enough." Quiché exhaled and resumed the desk rhythm. "So this is a matter of principle on both sides—"

"If I may, what is the actual foundation for the ongoing pressure against Kasparia?" Obsidian's stayed calm. "Each administration before yours has shown the same directional intent. Your other neighbors don't appear to generate the same interest."

"We've already recovered what was ours from the others." Quiché kept his own voice equally measured. "The Kasparian territory is disproportionate to what they are as a country. Nearly triple the size of Elysium. And your nation is not small either, particularly accounting for the New Mer territory you now hold."

"Scale isn't justification, with respect." Obsidian stood. The four soldiers brought their weapons up in a single unified motion, unhesitating. "We've been positioned along those borders long enough to understand what you're actually looking for there, Mr. Quiché."

Quiché raised one hand. The weapons came down. "You tested me. What did you find?"

"Crystal mines." Obsidian settled back into the chair, unhurried. "You've seen what 02 and the G-Bots can do. You want that capability for your own country. I understand why, and I can tell you clearly that it won't be extended to any outside party. Not in this generation or the next."

"So that's her name." Quiché glanced at his vice president, who had already begun typing before the glance even completed. "The blue android." He looked back at Obsidian. "A fully self-directed weapon capable of eliminating armies. Cities, if the accounts are accurate. I held something close to confidence in our position until she aligned with your side. The balance isn't what it was."

"Withdraw from Kasparia and the balance resets completely." Obsidian looked across the room at the soldier posted in the far corner. "Do you want a war against her specifically?"

The soldier shifted, barely, and didn't answer.

Quiché considered it for a real moment. Then he brought his eyes back to Obsidian. "I want a version of that android for the protection of this country. That doesn't change. And from everything I've seen today, your position doesn't either." He leaned forward. "So, no nuclear weapons on either side, and we let the outcome tell us who was right. Would that be acceptable?"

Obsidian shook his head, measured and even. "An interesting proposal. We can commit on our end that we won't push past your border, we respect territorial lines the same way we respect our own kind." He stood. "I'm a prime minister, not a king, so please send the formal treaty terms to Lord Reaper's office directly."

"Of course." Quiché exhaled. "I came into today hoping you'd brought something to offer us on the technology side."

He stood and extended his hand. "Two months, then. We'll be ready."

Obsidian shook it firmly and held the grip a moment.

"The reason the technology's creator was eliminated was specifically to prevent it reaching outside hands, even his own hands, in the end, represented a form of risk. We don't treat that subject loosely." He stepped back and gave a measured bow to the room.

"We'll remain in the city a while longer, the standard of organization here is really something. It offered us a form of hope in your kind, if I'm being honest." He turned toward the door as a soldier moved to open it. "One month, Mr. Quiché." He paused at the threshold. "Though you won't see us when it happens."

He left, not getting near the drinks at all.

The room held the quiet after him.

Quiché turned sharply to his right. "Full research on the unit called 02. We either neutralize her or we bring her over to our side."

"Sir—" The vice president weighed the words carefully. "Something of that nature may not be neutralizable."

Quiché looked at the rain coming down against the window. Through it, he could see Obsidian and Behemoth reuniting in the open space below, the enormous mech still in the same position they'd left him, standing in the weather without any visible concern about it.

"What moved her to their side? She came from the human world. She was built to operate inside it." He kept looking at the two figures far below. "We need to find a point of pressure."

"Sir." The vice president brought a screen forward into Quiché's line of sight. "What is your read on this?"

Quiché leaned in and zoomed.

"Reflex?"

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QUICHE

PRESIDENT OF THE REMIDICAN REPUBLIC