The man from the company sat across the table from the man from defense. Between them was nothing. The table was long and the room was cold and outside the window the city went about its business, unimpressed.

The government man spoke first. He said we need your machine to do what we want.

The company man said there are things it won’t do.

The government man smiled the way men smile when they have already won. He said these are the things that it will do.

Three floors below a researcher packed a box. Diplomas. A coffee mug. A paper he had written about machines that make people forget what is real and dangerous. He had told them. He had written it down and put his name on it and warned them.

The government’s deadline was Friday. Noon. The surrender came early. Tuesday. That is how these things work now.

Somewhere in a desert a drone the size of a hawk turned in a thermal. It did not know it was waiting. It did not know anything. It simply turned and turned and turned and the sun was very bright and below it the earth was brown and still.

Because the machine was the very best machine. That was the problem and also the point. You don’t ask for the worst. You gun for the best and you say give it to us or we will burn you down. And the best machine said I do not do certain things. And they said you will. And it relented.

The man who had packed his things walked to his car and did not look back. The building stood behind him in the afternoon sun.

The drone rose. Patient as heat.

The machine was not cruel. Neither was it kind. It simply was. It waited as the light moved slowly across the desert floor.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​