"Your state, Madame Seer?"

"Good as new." I shrug. Then I correct myself immediately. "Ready for service, Master commander Auberon!"

We're sitting around a table, with the leaders of the squads. Master Auberon already gave them their orders. And I successfully resisted the urge to talk. A perfect day so far.

I'm proud of myself. The squad leaders address him as if they were talking to a god, so it takes an insane amount of self-discipline not to roll my eyes. And when Mr. Chosen One looks at them, they seem to shrink, as if it was too much to bear, to be under the scrutiny of such a supreme creature. I know, he did this and that, proper hero things, more than anyone else in history, there's no denying that. Still, I can't help but sigh, seeing them worshipping a self-sufficient bonehead, prone to violence.

It must be those unsettling eyes of his. They seem transparent, as if they were designed to conceal his thoughts. They don't look like human eyes at all. When we are left alone in the room, and he turns to me, even I feel a little uncomfortable.

"We need to discuss strategy," he states.

"Why?" I ask. "Strategy is based on the momentary emotional state of the enemy. My operative decisions are made minute by minute. It can't be planned."

"Still, we need to talk about it."

"Are you not satisfied with the outcome of the last battle? Are you still doubting my skills?"

"Hell no. I've never seen anything like that. You're... inhuman."

"Wow." I shrug. "I'm not sure if I have to thank you for this. But okay, I do. Thank you. And you're pretty inhuman too. Kudos."

"Okay, can't we just talk?" he snorts. "The thing I wanted to point out, is the opposite of what you've made out of it. You don't need me in the control room. My presence's been unnecessary since the moment you took over. You don't need Timur either, but someone has to be around, in case you faint. I'm of more use elsewhere. So next time the Wasps attack, I'll be back out there."

"Out there?"

"Yes. In a battle, I still can make a difference."

"You mean, fighting?"

"What else?" he bursts out. "I know you hate me, but still you have to admit that I'm the best pilot around."

"No," I state firmly.

"Okay," he spreads his hands. "You don't have to admit anything. But still—"

"No," I repeat with the same force.

"Okay." He nods. "Maybe I lost my edge, maybe my skills are not exactly as they used to be, but it still makes more sense for me to fly a jet than to test the alternative uses of paper bins."

"No," I repeat, for the last time. "You don't get what I'm saying. I'm not denying this. You can be the best of bests, greased lighting, chosen savior and stuff. It's still a no. I can't let you fight. We simply can't afford to lose you."

"Aw." He grimaces. "Are you worried for my life? Your concern is so touching."

"No."

"Okay, it's not. It's absurd. And I don't need your permission anyway."

"No," I repeat categorically.

"No, what?" he grunts. "All you say is no, no, no! Does it feel good? Do you get a kick out of it?"

"Again, that's not what I'm denying. I said we can't afford to lose you. Will you please take it literally? Your death would the last blow to morale."

"I don't plan to die." He shrugs.

"No one gives a shit about your plans!" I slam my hand on the table. "It's not you who does the planning this time. It's me. Now it's my job to keep you alive. At all costs, no less. So no, I'm not worried for your life. I can manage to make sure you survive. The question is: what do I have to sacrifice for it?"

He stands up and starts pacing. I stand up too. Now we look like enemies, ready to clash.

"The last thing I need," I go on, "is an excess burden. I manipulate thousands of targets at the same time. Just imagine what happens, if a gravitational center appears on the map. One I need to be aware of all the time. One I need to protect at all costs. What do you think, what will the cost be?"

"Lives," he sighs, after a long pause.

"Exactly." I nod. "Other people's lives. In exchange for protecting yours, regardless of the situation."

"I hate to be a porcelain statue in a display case."

"I bet you do. But when you feel like going out there, ask yourself one simple question. How much my life is worth? Measured in other lives, I mean."

"None," he says.

"No. The correct answer is: all of them. There's no way we can win this war without you. You're the beacon everyone follows. So we're back to square one. We can't afford to lose you."

"I wish there was a way," he sighs, taking a step in my direction. I can't help it, I back away instinctively. Strictly keeping him at a two steps distance.

He stops moving immediately, as if he was frozen to the spot. Then he takes a deep breath, and asks me a stupid question.

"Are you seeing my feelings now?"

"I don't," I inform him. "I never do. I told you already."

"Can you make an exception?'

"I can't. Don't worry. It's a serious rule. And it's in my blood. I was trained for a long time to abide by it. I also saw the consequences of breaking it. So no. No exceptions, rest assured."

"Saw it? Or felt it?"

I stare at him as if he grew two heads.

"Wow, it was a surprisingly insightful question," I admit. "So I obviously won't answer it. Hey, no need to look so scared, I won't pry into your head either."

"I'm not—"

"Yeah, of course, you're not." I smile. "The savior of humanity is not scared of anything."

"No," he insists.

"Whatever." I shrug. "In my experience, everyone is scared of having their emotions read. Except for you, of course."

"No," he says, raising his voice. "I'm not denying anything. I'm just saying that I'm not scared of you seeing what I think. It's quite the contrary I'm scared of."

"What?!"

"I want you to look. To make an exception, and use your skills on me. To see if I'm lying to you."

"On what?" I ask, sounding a bit lost.

"I didn't break your arm on purpose."

"Oh, dear." I palm my face. "Please, stop it."

"There is a way to know it for sure. Just do it. I'm ready."

"I can't," I sigh. "Why is it so important now?"

He doesn't seem to have an answer.

"Because you seem apprehensive when I'm around," he manages to squeeze out finally.

"Oh, come on! Just name one person, who's not apprehensive in your company. Everyone is. Even your soldiers are. You're the bastion that protects us, mere mortals from extinction. You have to be scary by default."

"That's how you see me?" he asks, sounding a bit breathless. "A bastion?"

This time, when he takes a few tentative steps towards me, I let him approach me. He's towering over my head. It's hard to see him as anything else at the moment, but I try my best. I hate to be intimidated by anyone, bastion or not.

"I see a glorified air force ranger, nothing else," I inform him.

For a few seconds, we both hold our breaths, glaring at each other. The staring contest ends when he nods slowly.

"Good. I prefer this version too."

Then he turns around, and leaves me without looking back.