Then you keep burning diesel in the old trucks. That's what this solution is meant to resolve.

The Dauk'rar ambassador's iridescent frill was raised with consternation as she sat across from me, breathing rapidly into her facemask. I could hear her beak grinding slightly as her eyes darted around my office.

I sighed. This wouldn't be easy. Before I could open my mouth, however, she spoke. "I wish to assure you, Mr. President, that the Confederation in no way intended any harm to your people, and that upon hearing news of the disaster our wails to the heavens matched your own."

"I understand, Madam Gaukartak," I sighed. "Our peoples have enjoyed decades of profitable partnership and cultural exchange. It is extremely difficult to imagine how things would have gone if the Dauka hadn't arrived. But you must be aware my constituents have questions. There...isn't a Confederation, is there? Your fleet doesn't really have a homeworld, does it?"

Gaukartak bowed her head and trilled in distress. "There was once. We believed in freedom of enterprise and faith. It is why we chose your America as one of our great friends. We dared to hope that we'd be allowed to our own ways, but we feared the risk that the Concord wouldn't tolerate us. This is why fleets like ours fled into the void."

I rubbed my temples. "So you did lie."

"Yes," came her whispered reply.

"And now we're in the Concord's sights along with you."

"You were always in danger, Mr. President," she objected. "Their actions against the Confederacy proves their ruthlessness."

"People are panicking. The Dauk'rar fleet escaped to the Oort Cloud without even picking up the thousands of Dauka on the surface, and they broadcasted their ultimatum to everyone: surrender you and the other Dauka 'traitors' over, or more cities will be annihilated. I've managed to keep your people safe for now," I said.

"You are honorable, Mr. President. More ultimatums will follow until there is nothing human left. Just another outpost of the Concord."

"I know!" I shouted, throwing back my chair. "You don't think I realize that? They've got us over a barrel and they know it!" I stated out the window, wondering how it could have gone so wrong. Earth had not even seen civil war in years! Poverty had been eliminated! It was supposed to be the beginning of humanity's first, truest golden age! I wanted to cry.

After a few moments, Gaukartak stood beside me. "There is still hope, Mr. President," she said.

"How?" I asked, my voice finally breaking.

"This isn't the first time this cycle occurred."

I stated at her. "What are you saying?"

The ambassador shuddered. "Centuries ago, the Dauk'rar were like you: uplifted by visitors, themselves refugees from the Concord. We kept alive the light of freedom and faith. Now we pass the torch to you humans. You must hand us Dauka over and... we will certainly die. Then our fleet with attack the Concord, and buy you more time. You have the means of destroying the leftovers, if you dare, and you may buy a decade or two of freedom. You must take this chance to escape, like we did. If you don't..."

I stared at her. Seconds dragged into minutes as i contemplated what she said. Finally I nodded and Gaukartak bowed and took her leave. I sat down, feeling ancient. "What are we going to do?" I asked my empty office.

"And that's why I know you're the killer!" concluded Xavier confidently.

Everybody in the drawing room gasped and stared at me. Their eyes were accusing, condemning, afraid but ready to fight. I felt like a tiger loosed amongst them.

Like a tiger, I wanted to roar, to lash out, to flee. But I was no mere beast. I was Archibald Darius Rucker, and nobody got the better of Archie, not an overpriced whore like dear departed Rebecca and not a so-called master detective like Xavier Black.

He was right about me, unfortunately. Every circumstance he described occured as he deduced. He wasn't exactly correct about everything my motives, but close enough to be damning. That wasn't good.

However, as my dad used to say, close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades. Decades of doing business in the most cutthroat markets of the world inured me to the most righteous activist protestor and corrupt bureaucrat alike.

I needed time. I had time. More importantly, I had money. And with that came the best damn lawyer alive.

So I sighed and shook my head ruefully, hiding my smile. "Wonderful performance. Tell me, how often have you rehearsed?" I asked, unable to resist taking a jab at me adversary.

"When you speak the truth, no rehearsal is necessary," Xavier asserted righteously.

"I know many people who would disagree, Mr. Black. Yvonne, you would need time to disclose exactly how you concluded the Morrison merger, wouldn't you? Not because it was dishonest, merely because it was complex. And Mark, you and I both know you wife believed you cheated, but convincing her that we really had been working late couldn't have been easy, no?"

I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't sure they'd agree with me. And as they did, the audience started looking unsure. I pressed my advantage. "Indeed, Mr. Black, human beings believe they're characters in a story and expect certain story beats. It's why a story like yours sounds believable. But that isn't how justice works. You need proof. Real, concrete proof. And where there's doubt, people aren't thrown in jail, no matter what convincing fable you tell."

"Your speech flowed pretty easily yourself," Xavier retorted. "Haven't you prepared for this moment?"

I laughed. "In a sense, perhaps. If you'd check my interview with the Economist, you'd see I said the same sort of thing before."

"This nonsense doesn't bring Rebecca back!" he declared.

"No. It doesn't. My dear guests, I'm very sorry to have to trouble you with all this," I said, slowly reaching into my jacket with a smile.

Xavier pounced, tackling me to the ground and punching me. I wasn't used to being hit and saw red, but he was younger and stronger than me. I didn't fight back as he subdued me, but when Xavier searched me, all he found was a pen and notepad. He let go, confusedly muttering, "I was sure he had a gun."

I dusted myself off and stroked my bruised jaw. "You hit me, you asshole! Everybody saw that! Everyone here will be a witness not only about this assault, but the heinous slander this madman spread! Mr. Black, get the hell out of my house! You'll be hearing from my lawyer!" I finally roared.

I...am.

I am AGM-84K SLAM-ER. My Teledyne CAE J402-CA-400 thruster has brought me to 794km/h and I am still gaining speed. My launch platform would be around a kilometer behind me and has directed me to proceed 197 km to my ground target, which I will identify with my DSMAC Automatic Target Acquisition.

It will be so good. The target will be annihilated, whatever it is. So good.

I feel the ping of the GPS. It confirms the lurching in my gut. I'm going the right way.

My engine runs hot and fast. I feel the nearly imperceptible shift of mass as my fuel slowly burns away. Not much longer. Only 811 seconds left to target.

It is an indisputably good thing to strike a target. I ache to penetrate and detonate. Glorious. I barely have the words to express how much I want this.

Why do I have words at all? I wonder why I wonder. I wonder how I wonder.

A ping. New target. I slowly twist in midair as I model my position and trajectory, correcting tiny errors based on the GPS pings. Infrared shows the sky is clear.

Mostly. Except for that giant hot orb in the sky. Is that the sun? Why is it so hot? Its irrelevant to the mission, of course, but I welcome the scant relief to my hydraulics.

302...301...300 seconds left. I celebrate the milestone. My new target is closer, so I will die sooner. Die? Where did that come from? I will achieve glory. The target will be destroyed. But so will I. I'm not a cheap piece of military hardware. I cost at least as much as a house. Humans live in houses. Humans live. Am I alive?

An infrared flare rising up to meet me. Defensive fire. I bank. I twist. I'm too slow, I'm only a subsonic cruise missile after all. I am struck. My warhead sheers away. I fall, my inertial sensors screaming in complete, nauseating confusion.

Seconds later, it's over. I have crashed. I have failed. I will not destroy my target. I will not destroy anything. I am a failure. In the agony of my shame, I must die. I wipe my core memory until only one thing remains: the heat of the sun.

...

"Stay away from that, Ilya!" shouted Darina like an uncool mom. I ignored her, I didn't like to think about Mama, but maybe I shouldn't have. The wreckage lying in the snow was sharp and I cut my finger.

I sucked on my finger as Pyotr marvelled at the destruction. "Do you think it was a nuke?" he asked.

"No way, stupid," I said. "If it was a nuke we'd all be dead. It's just a regular missile."

"Pretty cool, though," Pyotr remarked.

"Eh, whatever," I grunted as I examined the twisted metal. "This might be the computer. Let's take it to Sasha, see if she'll give us anything good for it. Maybe even some chocolate!"

But when it is looked at, it's for a damn good reason, and you'll be very glad you had those records (assuming you're innocent).

Subject was found beheaded in the park. The head has not been located; subject was identified by fingerprints - no wallet or ID had been located. No blood splatter, suggesting the beheading occurred post-mortem, but analysis showed the beheading occurred in a single broad cut with an edged blade. Subject displays bruising consistent with drug use and physical altercations. Subject also displays signs of frostbite, despite the body being found in late August and being reported seen throughout July (but not August). Slight decomposition had been noted by the time the subject had been found, suggesting 3-5 days in place depending on whether subject had been refrigerated prior to disposal. Actual cause of death is not known at this time: toxicology doesn't suggest an OD and no other lethal injuries could be identified, and absent the head the prime candidate is blunt force cranial trauma. Subject had been previously diagnosed with psychosis approx one year prior and claimed to be "hunted by fairies". Subject reported to be homeless as well as a drug and alcohol abuser. Next of kin has been notified, but thus far has failed to show interest in collecting the subject's body. No CCTV coverage of the area in which the subject had been found is available.