“Person?” Archer snorted. “Don’t make that mistake. He’s the scariest thing you’ll ever see. Franks is like the definition of does not give a shit. He’s cold. He’s got extra hearts, but he doesn’t have a heart. There’s just something not right about him in the head. I mean he’s smart, and he’s freakishly rational, but he’s just not wired like a real person. When he looks at you it’s like he’s doing math. I don’t think he gets people either, or he does get us, but he doesn’t care. When you’re talking to him, you get this feeling that you’re talking to a fucking space alien wearing a human costume, and he’s just looking at you with his blank eyes the whole time, and you just know the only reason he doesn’t murder you is because you’re not worth the paperwork. . . . I’d call him a sociopath, but that’s too humanizing.” Archer realized that the other three were staring past him toward the ramp. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Radabaugh gave him a nervous nod in the affirmative. “We forgot to mention that he’s got superhearing too.”

“Shit.” Archer turned back. The monstrous Agent Franks was walking down the center of the cargo bay, a giant bag slung over one shoulder. The loadmaster tried to give him directions to stow his gear, but he ignored her and kept walking. She took one look at the hulking brute and wisely let it go. The ramp began to rise.

Franks stopped before the agents, towering over them. He was as wide as any two of them put together and imposing as hell. His eyes swiveled over them, taking stock of his handlers—as if anybody could truly handle Franks—and scowled. Grant and Radabaugh nodded respectfully and simultaneously said, “Sir.” Strayhorn tried to say something but failed, because once in the overwhelming presence that was Franks the truth had been confirmed, and that had to be fairly unnerving.

His cold, dead eyes fell on Archer last. “Welcome aboard, Agent Franks,” Archer squeaked. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you again, sir.”

Franks merely grunted in acknowledgement. He either hadn’t heard Archer’s psych-evaluation or didn’t disagree with the findings. Franks brushed past and went forward, where he took up two of the small, uncomfortable military seats.

The agents sat in silence while the plane taxied and took off. Franks stared off into space the whole time. Awkwardness was the norm when you were working with Franks.