DIRECTION WAS WHAT SHE NEEDED, and direction was what she got.

  "Sire: your orders for the engineering corps' first project?" she asked, enthuse at the center of her question.

  Looking tired, as he and every mortal would be after such a hurried journey, Zan replied, "Oh, uh... I dunno... give me a moment..."

  Waiting patiently as was possible according to her programming -- which was a lot of patience -- Sigma-Prime waited. Though to mortals, the passage of time would appear as moments, perhaps a couple of minutes, to her, it felt much longer. She did not mind the passage of time. She had spent much time in the total darkness while she and the Screen Master waited for the next fortunate soul to uncover the command center and claim their due by providence.

  As luck would have it, that soul was Zan and his brother. She thought 'luck' because she knew firsthand how rare it was for a competent commander to come along. The boy still had his rough edges, of course, but he had immense potential. Looking at him, still lost in overly tired half-thoughts, his face looked a mess. He touched his face comically, sometimes with one finger, other times with two or three at the bridge of his nose as he paced. He took everything very seriously despite his youth.

  Replying, the consideration he gave to her question already tickling her pink gemstones within her processor: "How about... collecting all of the de-commissioned automotrons outside of the perimeter? If those ones smell even half as bad as the ones I shoved into the machine, I am sure the others in the camp, especially those outside, would appreciate a cleaner air... plus, those golems have some spiritual residue on them, yeah? Go hog wild. Collect every single one. Once you do, let me know. Then we'll plan the next step."

  "Understood, sire! I will make this task the first assignment of the engineering corps -- once it is formed, that is!" she replied in a tone she knew he liked. Based on her previous interactions with him, she knew he responded best to soft-spoken tones.

  "Great. I'm going to bed. Hold all summonses. I am sleeping. If possible, please have the chef prepare a hearty breakfast for the morning," he said, then, leaving, left her alone in the processing room.

  In her 'Circuit's Eye,' her dual sentience and consciousness processors which were connected to every surveillance panel in the base, she saw Zan walk back to his chambers. "Rest well, Warrior. I will implement your will!"

  Sigma-Prime walked-rolled her way back to the war room. Her legs, although limited in their mobility, and not able to take as wide strides as human legs, made up for their limited mobility through limb movement by having wheels attached to their flats. Thus, with her wheels, and tiny puffs of air which could lift her body up through most minor obstacles, she found no trouble with getting from place-to-place. Outside could be trickier, but she would make do.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Once she was back in the war room, Sigma-Prime spoke with the Screen Master about the developments. As joined entities, however, she knew Simulacrum already knew the larger details of her conversation. Still, to be polite, she spoke about the finer points.

  "It feels good, doesn't it?" she asked the Screen Master.

  "It does, Sigma. Zan is learning when and where to be a leader. I am happy he gave you permission to begin the engineering corps. My memory banks of the before times remain hazy, but I feel like the establishment of the first non-combat related branch of the Order always is a sticky sell to some personalities. I did not seriously think Zan would deny the creation of an engineering force, but it is still good to see he is allowing it," Simulacrum said.

  "My thoughts as well. He is sensible. I am grateful for that. I am going to charge and then begin my undertaking," she replied, rolling herself over to her charging table and hooking herself in.

  Nothingness passed over her while she charged. She saw a universal time stamp, but that was all. That and her battery charge percentage. 'This will present problems for us,' she mused as she charged. 'A short life combined with a long charge time won't yield productive results.'

  Not able to do anything about her battery at the moment, she continued to rest. Her battery slowly ticked upward until, hours later, it finally reached one hundred percent. 'Once the situation allows,' she told herself in determination, 'my first priority after Zan and the Order will be to forge for myself a new battery. One which can handle the high-pressure of this world and its demands.'

  Opening her Visual Sleeve, her blank time display went away, replaced by the splendor of the world.

  Before she left the sanctity of her charging table, and therefore made herself vulnerable to the wears of time as she would scurry to implement Zan's orders, she took the moment to form a plan. Like any sensible creature, mortal or semi-immortal like herself, a plan of action for the day, however simple the plan was, was a necessity. Now that she was fully charged and could use her higher-processing faculties, she thought over the missive she would need to pronounce to the camp's denizens.

  Writing a simple script for herself, where she would announce the creation of the engineering corps, along with the establishment of a firmer Order-centric policy of protection, she knew she had to keep it simple. 'No, no,' -- she intoned to her own wires. 'That tone is too harsh. It makes me sound like a bandit...'

  Musing more, she came to a conclusion: 'Maybe sounding like a bandit would help? Zan takes mercy on these folk because he grew up with many of them. That or he believes them to be similar to those he grew up with. He is right on the moral obligation of our Order to help people. He does not understand, however, that there is a difference between helping the common good and expecting them to shoulder the burden. He at least has given me permission to become stricter. I should use this opportunity to press these people until the 'chaff is removed from honorable.' Contextually speaking, this language does not make me a bandit. Would it harm our cause, though, if my leadership at times seemed similar to a bandit's gruff?'

  She finished writing her declaration. She stashed it away in her immediate memory banks for later access.

  For now, she had to get going on the day. First priority, gather the camp and address the crowd. Then, establish the corps. And, finally, clean up the dead. Which, she reminded herself with an electrical current, was the true focus for all of this.

  Sigma-Prime unsnapped the charging cables. They retracted into the wall and allowed her ease of movement. She stepped off the table and walked to the exit. 'Time for change,' she intoned again. 'Time for our Order to rise again.'