The medical bay on sublevel eight was cleaner than most Ark facilities, sterile white walls and harsh lighting that made everything look simultaneously clinical and unwelcoming. Arthur stood outside the repair station where two technicians worked on Nyx's damaged plating, watching through the reinforced viewport as they sealed the crack in her side with practiced efficiency.
Scarlet stood beside him, arms crossed. Lyra had remained with the shuttle to oversee equipment storage. Neither of them spoke—there wasn't much to say that hadn't already been communicated through the tense silence during the ride back.
"Commander Cousland." A young officer in Central Command gray approached, crisp and professional. "Deputy Chief Andersen requests your presence immediately. Conference room twelve, command level."
Arthur's jaw tightened. He'd expected this. "Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes."
"He specified immediately, sir."
Of course he did. Arthur glanced at Scarlet, who met his eyes with an expression that was part concern, part resignation. She knew what this summons meant as well as he did.
"Go," she said quietly. "We'll wait here."
Arthur nodded and followed the officer through the Ark's corridors, past administrative sections and security checkpoints, until they reached the command level reserved for senior officials. Conference room twelve was modest compared to the grand briefing halls—a functional space with a single table, basic tactical displays, and no witnesses.
Deputy Chief Andersen stood by the window overlooking the Ark's central residential district, hands clasped behind his back. He was older than Arthur by perhaps twenty years, with gray threading through dark hair and the kind of bearing that came from decades of military service. His uniform was immaculate.
"Commander Cousland," Andersen said without turning. "Thank you for coming."
"Didn't realize I had a choice, sir."
Andersen turned then, his expression unreadable. "Sit."
Arthur remained standing. "I'd prefer not to, sir."
A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed Andersen's face. "As you wish." He moved to the table, activating a datapad that projected the mission report Arthur had filed thirty minutes ago. "Sector Nine resource recovery. Encountered master-class Rapture with ant-type support. Squad eliminated all hostiles, recovered two of three designated caches. One squad member sustained minor damage. Mission terminated early, extraction called at four hours, twelve minutes into an eight-hour operational window."
"That's accurate," Arthur confirmed.
Andersen looked up from the display. "You called extraction because Soldier EG sustained plating damage and a superficial structural crack."
"Nyx," Arthur corrected. "Her name is Nyx."
"Soldier EG," Andersen repeated, his tone hardening slightly, "sustained damage that did not compromise her combat effectiveness, did not breach critical systems, and did not impair her operational capacity in any measurable way. Yet you terminated a mission with four hours remaining and failed to recover a third high-priority cache because you decided your soldier needed immediate repair."
Arthur kept his voice level. "She was injured. Proper protocol is to ensure squad readiness."
"Proper protocol," Andersen said, "is to complete the mission unless extraction becomes absolutely necessary. Tell me, Commander—was Soldier EG unable to fight?"
"She was damaged."
"That's not what I asked." Andersen's voice remained calm, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. "Could she still fire her weapon? Could she still move, still follow orders, still perform her designated function?"
Arthur said nothing.
"Let me answer for you," Andersen continued. "Yes. She could have continued fighting. Nikkes are designed to operate through damage that would incapacitate or kill human soldiers. They have pain inhibitors that can be manually disabled, redundant systems, structural reinforcement specifically engineered to maintain combat effectiveness even when compromised." He paused. "Soldier EG could have switched off her pain receptors and continued the mission. You know this."
"I'm aware of Nikke capabilities, sir."
"Are you?" Andersen stepped closer, and Arthur saw something in his eyes that wasn't quite anger—disappointment, maybe. "Because your actions suggest otherwise. You treated minor plating damage as a critical injury. You prioritized a single unit's comfort over mission completion. You made a decision that, if replicated across all squads, would cripple our surface operations."
Arthur's prosthetic hands clenched. "With respect, sir, Nyx is not a unit. She's a soldier. And soldiers deserve to be treated as more than expendable equipment."
"I agree," Andersen said quietly.
That stopped Arthur cold. "Sir?"
Andersen returned to the window, looking out over the Ark. "I've commanded Nikke squads for fifteen years, Commander. I've seen hundreds of conversions, thousands of deployments, more death than I care to remember. And in my opinion—my personal opinion, which you will not repeat—Nikkes are people. They think, they feel, they remember what they were even when those memories fragment. They deserve dignity, respect, fair treatment." He turned back to Arthur. "But they are not human."
"That's a distinction without a difference."
"No," Andersen said firmly. "It's the most important distinction you'll ever make as a commander. Nikkes are not human. Their bodies are synthetic, engineered, designed for purposes human flesh cannot withstand. They can survive damage that would kill you instantly. They can fight through pain that would leave you unconscious. They can operate in conditions—radiation, vacuum, chemical exposure—that would kill an unaugmented human in seconds." He gestured at Arthur's prosthetic arms. "You've had a taste of it with your modifications. But you still have a human core, human organs, human vulnerabilities. They don't."
Arthur forced himself to remain calm. "So because they can survive more, we should demand they endure more?"
"Yes," Andersen said bluntly. "Because that's what they were built for. Because humanity is losing this war, Commander, and we cannot afford to treat our most effective weapons as though they have the same limitations as baseline humans." He picked up the datapad again. "You called extraction with four hours remaining because you were worried about Soldier EG's wellbeing. That's commendable. It's also strategically unsound. The third cache contained medical supplies that three other squads are waiting for. Supplies that could save human lives in the Ark. You prioritized one Nikke's minor damage over potential human casualties."
The accusation hung in the air like a blade.
"That's not fair," Arthur said quietly.
"War isn't fair." Andersen set down the datapad. "Listen to me, Commander. I'm not telling you to abuse your squad. I'm not suggesting you treat them as disposable. What I'm telling you is that you need to understand what they are and what they're capable of. Nikkes have a core—the brain, the only remaining organic component from their human body. As long as that core is intact, as long as it remains undamaged, they will survive. Everything else is replaceable. Their limbs can be rebuilt, their plating repaired, their systems restored. They are, in the most literal sense, built to take damage and continue fighting."
"They still feel pain," Arthur said.
"Yes. And they can turn it off." Andersen's expression softened slightly. "I know this is difficult. I know you care about your squad. Director Caldwell selected you specifically because you have the capacity for empathy that too many commanders lack. But empathy without wisdom will get you killed. It will get your squad killed. And it will cost human lives that could have been saved."
Arthur stared at the tactical display, seeing Sector Nine's map, the third cache marked in red. Incomplete.
"Future missions won't be as forgiving," Andersen continued. "You'll face situations where extraction isn't available for hours, where your squad takes heavy damage and you have to choose between mission completion and their comfort. You'll have to make decisions that feel wrong but are tactically necessary." He met Arthur's eyes. "Can you do that?"
"I don't know," Arthur admitted.
"Then figure it out," Andersen said, not unkindly. "Because the alternative is failure. And failure means dead humans, lost territory, and your squad being reassigned to a commander who won't care about them at all." He moved toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, I think you're a good commander, Cousland. You have potential. But potential means nothing if you can't adapt to reality."
Andersen left, the door hissing shut behind him.
Arthur stood alone in the conference room, staring at the incomplete mission report, feeling the weight of what he'd been told settling into his bones like lead.
He found his squad in the medical bay's waiting area. Nyx sat on a bench, her plating fully repaired, bronze synthetic skin seamless once more. She looked up when Arthur entered, golden eyes searching his face.
"How bad was it?" she asked.
Arthur sat beside her. Scarlet and Lyra moved closer, forming a loose circle. "Andersen reminded me that you could have kept fighting."
Nyx's expression didn't change. "I could have."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you didn't ask." Nyx leaned back against the wall. "You saw I was damaged and called extraction. I figured you had your reasons."
Scarlet spoke carefully. "Arthur, we appreciate that you care about our wellbeing. But Andersen isn't wrong. We're built differently than you are. What feels like a critical injury to a human is often minor damage to us."
"You were hurt," Arthur said.
"I was damaged," Nyx corrected. "There's a difference. Pain is just electrical signals. I can suppress it, route around it, function through it. I've done it before." She met his eyes. "You pulled us out because you were worried. That's... actually kind of touching. But it also means we failed the mission."
"The mission parameters were completed," Lyra said quietly. "Two of three caches recovered, master-class eliminated, squad intact."
"But not optimal," Nyx countered. "And in a longer operation, we wouldn't have had the luxury of early extraction."
Arthur looked at each of them in turn. "So what are you saying? That I should have left you damaged and pushed forward?"
"We're saying," Scarlet said carefully, "that you need to trust us to know our own limits. If I tell you I can't fight, believe me. But if I'm still operational, trust that I mean it."
"We're not fragile," Nyx added. "Stop treating us like we are."
The words stung more than Arthur expected. "I'm trying to keep you alive."
"We know," Scarlet said, and her hand found his. "That's why we're having this conversation instead of resenting you for it. But we need you to understand what we are. We're soldiers. We're weapons. We're people. All three, simultaneously. And sometimes being a good commander means using us the way we were designed to be used."
Arthur was quiet for a long moment. "I hate this."
"Yeah," Nyx said softly. "Welcome to command."
Lyra, who had been silent, finally spoke. "The question isn't whether you made the right call today. The question is whether you'll make the right call tomorrow, when the stakes are higher and extraction isn't an option." Her blue targeting displays focused on Arthur with uncomfortable intensity. "Can you?"
"I don't know," Arthur said honestly. "But I'll try."
"That's all we can ask," Scarlet said.
They sat together in the medical bay's harsh light, four people bound by circumstance and choice, navigating the impossible space between humanity and necessity.
Arthur knew Andersen was right. He knew his squad was right. He knew the war demanded harder choices than his instincts wanted to make.
But knowing didn't make it easier.
It just made it necessary.